[Fade up on a beach scene. The shot pans across the sandy expanse, finally coming to rest on a touching picnic scene. Two young lovers, the woman stunningly beautiful and dressed in a skimpy bikini, and the man somewhat less attractive, being afflicted with thick spectacles and bad acne, recline on a large beach towel, a large picnic hamper between them. The young man looks adoringly at his darling, who looks decidedly bored by the whole affair. Suddenly, a big pair of boots appear in the shot, and the butt of a cheap cigar is thrown onto a plate of vol au vents, sending the morsels of food scattering. A gravelly voice cuts in:] VOICE: Hey kid... nice picnic. [The young man looks up, and his eyes widen in terror as a hand reaches down and grabs him by the neck. The shot pans up to show a grinning Steve "the Fury" Kowalski, bedecked, even on the beach, in his faded denim jacket. The IIWF World Heavyweight Champion is clutching the unfortunate young man by his throat.] SK: Pity to waste it, but hey... [Kowalski doubles the terrified young man over, hooks one arm... hooks the other... and then viciously Skullpumps him through the picnic basket, which bursts under the impact. The beautiful young girl squeals as fragments of cake and sandwiches are flung from the wreckage, but her demeanour soon changes as she looks up at Kowalski, who snaps his fingers. The scantily-clad young woman joins Kowalski, and the two of them walk off down the beach, leaving the young man moaning quietly, his head still buried in the remains of his lunch. As the Fury departs, his words can be heard fading into the distance:] SK: It's yer lucky day, doll. Yer about to find out why they call me the Next Big Thing... [The gorgeous young woman giggles as she and Kowalski disappear into the distance. A voice over cuts in:] VO: Hearts and flowers? Romance? You can stick them where the sun don't shine. This is the IIWF -- no love, no learnin'. [Strobing images of "Savage" Shadoe Rage performing his Hammer of God chokeslam flash across the screen.] And tonight, one man will face three champions in one match. [The images of Shadoe Rage are interspersed with flashes of the "Enigma" Takezo Musashi performing his Starsault Press, Duncan Macbeth executing his Claymore frankensteiner, and Steve "the Fury" Kowalski planting an opponent with his Skullpump double underhook piledriver.] This is the Valentine's Day Massacre. This is... [The opening graphics explode onto the screen:] ________ ______ __ ____ ___ __ . _ ___ | || |\ \ /\ / /| __| / /\ | | || \| \ /\ \ / |\ || / \| | | | || | \ v v / | __| \__ /__\ | | ||__/| |/__\ v | \||| __|-| | |_||_| \_/\_/ |_| \ \| v | \|__/ \| | || \_|| | | __________________________/...hour one...\........|...|.......|....| LIVE! West Palm Beach Auditorium, West Palm Beach, Florida 14 February 1998 [The opening graphics fade through to interior shots of the jam-packed West Palm Beach Auditorium, fireworks shooting out from either side of the huge video wall above the entranceway at the head of the aisle and streaking up into the rafters above above the ringside enclosure, seemingly triggering further fireworks, and sending a rain of white sparks down into the ring. Finally, flames shoot up from each of the four corners of the ring from pyros mounted on the ringposts. Huge pop from the seven thousand fans crowding the floor seating and filling the mezzanine, lining the entire arena. The shot pans down past row upon row of excited faces, young and old, many bedecked in IIWF merchandise, and most waving home-made signs. Over these scenes comes the voice of Tim Dross, his words being carried over the PA system:] TD: Welcome everybody to the West Palm Beach Auditorium! Welcome everybody to the sunshine state, Florida! Welcome everybody... to IIWF Saturday Night! [Another huge cheer goes up from the fans as the shot swings over the crowd, multi-coloured spotlights in the rigging above the ring casting their bright beams over the sea of humanity ranged over the floor of the Auditorium. Finally, the shot comes to rest on veteran IIWF announcer Tim Dross, who stands in the ring, dressed in his usual IIWF blazer, and once again sporting his somewhat conspicuous "WRESTLE CLEAN!" lapel badge. Dross raises a microphone to his mouth as the fans settle and the lights in the arena rise.] TD: Ladies and gentlemen, at this time, I introduce to you the number one contenders for the IIWF World Tag Team Championships... THE DOWN BOYS! ["Down Boys" by Warrant kicks in the PA as "Superstud" Adam Peterson and "Dazzling" Dan Oliver come out with their manager, Awesome T.  T is still wearing the black "Role Model." t-shirt as he leads his tag team to ringside, where they stop and flank Tim Dross.  They are still dressed in police attire along with their wrestling attire.] TD: Awesome T, am I going to be allowed to talk to your Down Boys tonight, or are they going to speak through you? AT: Of course you are, Timmy!  The DB's have a lot on their mind, and would love to express it. TD: Very well... Adam Peterson... AT: [interrupting] It's just that they don't want to express their feelings right this moment.  To be frank, Timmy, you scare them, and I can't say I blame them.  Adam used to have an uncle that... well... did bad things to him, and well... TD: Fine.  T, the Down Boys are next in line for an IIWF World Tag Team Title shot, according to the IIWF rankings.  When can we expect the Down Boys to face the Natural Predators for the belts? AT: Timmy... gold doesn't mean a thing to us right now.  What matters to us is the fact that all these wrestlers in the IIWF are such... such... bad people.  Breaking rules, not shaking hands and such... these things aren't right.  There are no role models among the tag teams in the IIWF, with the exception of the Down Boys and the Natural Predators. [Crowd pop!] AT: And we're gonna get rid of all the scum in the IIWF, starting with those Fabulous Ones.  Fab Ones... hell, the Down Boys have beaten you enough times to make it boring, so let's make it a little more interesting.  If you can find a partner next week, the Down Boys will face you in a six man tag team match, which will be the last match we'll wrestle against you for a long time.  I don't know who you want as your partner, but the Down Boys already have theirs... a man who thinks on the same level as the Down Boys do... a team that the fans have been demanding for months now.  The Down Boys' partner next week will be... RICHARD "MOXY" BLUE!!! [Big "MOXY! MOXY!" chant from the fans. Awesome T smiles briefly, but then his expression darkens once more.] AT: And as for those Prophets of Rage... the Down Boys respect you, but you're bad men, and you've gotta go down to the UNSKINNY... [Small section of the crowd, on cue, chants "BOP BOP BOP BOP!"] AT: Kickass.  Remember kids, respect your elders, cheer for your champions, and always wrestle clean.  We'll see you at the matches... TD: Ladies and gentlemen, the Down Boys and Awesome T! [T hands the mic back to Tim Dross and the Down Boys make their way back to the dressing rooms to the strains of "Down Boys", the overhead lights throwing garish colours over the arena in time with the music. Tim Dross ducks out of the ring, and heads to the broadcast table at ringside, next to "Soundbite" Steve Roberts, who is wearing his trademark leather jacket over a "Let's Get Smooooth!" t-shirt. He also sports a lapel badge that reads, "WRESTLE DIRTY!"] TD: A challenge laid down to kick things off here tonight! Howdy, folks. I'm Tim Dross, and beside me, as always, is my broadcast colleague and tag team partner, "Soundbite" Steve Roberts. We have quite a show lined up for you this week as we come to you live from the sunshine state, Florida. SR: Except the sun isn't shining, is it, Dross? The suits send us to Florida in the middle of February. No sorority girls in skimpy bikinis out on the sand, no feeble college wimps for me to kick sand in the faces of... damn those dirty suits, Dross. The Black Jesus has needs, Dross! Needs! TD: So it would seem. The IIWF will be a part of history right here tonight, as this broadcast is the last scheduled event here in the West Palm Beach Auditorium before it is turned over to its new owners, the Jehovah's Witnesses. SR: Am I allowed to make a Jehovah's Witness joke, Dross? TD: You most certainly are not, Steve Roberts. Folks, we have another blockbuster line-up coming your way tonight -- including a main event that could headline an event anywhere in the world. As you saw at the top of the show, all three of the IIWF's singles champions -- Cruiserweight Champion, the "Enigma" Takezo Musashi, Intercontinental Champion Duncan Macbeth, and IIWF World Heavyweight Champion Steve "the Fury" Kowalski -- will square off against the "King of Snow Brawl", "Savage" Shadoe Rage, who is certainly making the most of his booking rights. SR: This one's gonna be a doozy, Dross. Shadoe has to wrestle three guys in succession -- and the last of the three is none other than the Fury. Kowalski was made to look a fool last Saturday Night by that big galoot Gunnar Gaines -- and you can bet somebody's gonna pay for that right here tonight. TD: Indeed, perhaps Gunnar "Grizzly" Gaines and Steve "the Fury" Kowalski will again come face to face here in the West Palm Beach Auditorium. Gaines is scheduled to face fellow newcomer Battalion in what is sure to be an exciting battle of the big men -- but after their encounter last week, I find it hard to believe that Kowalski and Gaines won't have words for one another before tonight's show is done with. SR: Two words, Dross: Skull. Pump. TD: That remains to be seen. As well as all three singles champions being in action, we will see the reigning IIWF World Tag Team Champions, the Natural Predators, keep up their punishing schedule by defending their titles against the Fabulous Ones. In other tag action, the wild, wild Prophets of Rage will do battle with the Down Boys, who we have just heard from. For their sake, let's hope that the Down Boys aren't looking past tonight's match against the Prophets to their challenge for next week. SR: You hear that crazy Unique Allah on Morton's show last night, Dross? Tossed salad? That guy is way out there, baby dolls. Who knows what's gonna go down when my black bruthas are in the house! TD: Tremendous singles competition also coming your way in the next one hundred and twenty minutes, folks: the poster boy of new Vice-President Osterhout's "Wrestle Clean" campaign, the impressive Ike Sampson, will do battle with "The Intrepid" Ryan Howard, and we will see a battle of the Steeles, as the "Real Deal" takes on his namesake the "Meatman" in our second hour. SR: Meat! Meat! Meat! Aw, you gots to love the Meatguy, Dross. TD: Indeed, Jimmy Steele has established himself as a real favourite in the IIWF rings -- and he held his own against Steve Kowalski in last Saturday Night's abortive World Championship match. Equally, Luke Steele has been riding a hot streak with his floating DDT finisher, and a win over the Meatman would thrust him directly into title contention. It'll be a hard-fought match, that much is for sure. SR: Who cares about the match, Dross? I just hope the Meatguy brings me some more steak... or maybe a little duck. I'll have the crispy Duck Savior to go, baby dolls! TD: What on earth are you talking about, Steve Roberts? In addition to those matches, we'll also see the truly psychotic Steve Manning do battle with the "Ragin' Cajun" Christopher Stonebreaker. SR: "J'vais te briser"? What the heck does that mean, Dross? "I want to rub you down with exotic oils and bathe your feet in maple syrup... oh, and bring Troy along too"? TD: Uh, not exactly, Steve Roberts. On top of all that, we're scheduled to hear from two men that we have not seen much of since Snow Brawl several weeks ago: "To Excess" Rick Williams, who blinded Billy Shakespeare with a flashbulb in Hawaii, will join us for comments in our second hour... and former IIWF Cruiserweight Champion Ronnie Paris will also be here tonight. I'm told that he has some comments that you won't want to miss. SR: Come on, Dross, tell the morons the truth. When Paris was scheduled for a match last week, he didn't fail to appear because of travel problems, did he? TD: Certainly there have been a number of rumours flying around the front office staff concerning Ronnie Paris' status here in the IIWF -- but that will undoubtedly be cleared up later tonight when we hear from Paris himself. Folks, all that and much more coming your way tonight... but right now it's time for our opening match, as the "Savior" Simon Lebec faces the Dark Destroyer, Deathbringer -- who is currently minus his mask after the Harlequins attacked him en masse and stole it from him some ten days ago in what will surely go down in history as one of the most audacious actions we have seen in the IIWF. SR: So tonight, we finally get to find out what the big guy looks like? I hope he's mighty ugly, Dross. You knows how I likes the ugly guys! TD: We have one heck of a night ahead of us, Steve Roberts! All of the champions of the IIWF are here! SR: But it might not be all the gold if Crazy Joe wins the big one in Nagano! TD: I'm sure all of the IIWF would join in wishing Joe Petrow and the U.S. curling team well in thier quest for the gold medal. SR: I'm more interested in the wacky Canadian snowboarding champ, Ross Regabliati, who seems to have a love for the demon weed! TD: Speaking of demons, our next match includes someone who claims to be trying to drive the demon sout of the IIWF! SR: So when do we see Lebec facing Lestat? TD: It seems a natural. Let's go up to Sparkplug. ________ ______ | || |\ \ /\ / /| __|.................................................. | || | \ v v / | __| Deathbringer vs. "The Savior" Simon Lebec |_||_| \_/\_/ |_|.................................................... WRITER: Rusty Priske [Sparkplug Lee, beaming like he has some secret that no one else is privy to, starts in reading off his cue cards.] SL: The first match tonight is scheduled for one fall. Introducing first... from Hollywood, California... and weighing in at 239 pounds... "The Savior" Simon Lebec! [The sounds of a choir are heard as Simon steps through the curtains. Soon it is clear that the choir is live as a dozen black gospel singers in mock surplices make their way, swaying and clapping, into the aisle behind Lebec, who is still dressed in his monk-like getup.] SR: Trust Lebec to bring his own choral group! TD: But look at Lebec! He's wearing Deathbringer's mask! [And so he is... or rather the cheap knock-off he had on Friday night. He stops to give his blessing to some rather reluctant fans as the dozen black women following him continue to sing. Finally he climbs into the ring and bestows a blessing on Sparkplug Lee.] TD: Sparky is ready to continue his... what...? [The source of Dross' consernation is the suddening blackening of the lights in the arena. While this is a normal occurence, it still catches the announcers off guard.] SR: I guess the dead guy is in a hurry! TD: Not necessarily. We've got a report that there is some confusion backstage! [The scene cuts to Larry Morton in the back with a microphone.] LM: All we've heard is yelling from Deathbringer's dressing room. We're going to try and get a peek... [The camera moves so they can get a view of the room only to see a furious Deathbringer and Blind Guardian surrounded by flowers... and stuffed animals... and balloons!] LM: Are you seeing this? Someone has turned Deathbringer's room into something you might see in a twelve year old girl's bedroom! Can you hear the music? It's the Beach Boys! And Deathbringer is very angry! [Cut back to a darkened ringside.] SR: How do you know what a twelve year old girl's room looks like? Morton... you sly dog! TD: If Deathbringer is still back there... what have the lights dimmed for? [As if on cue the lights come back up to reveal Simon Lebec, still standing in the ring. Right behind him, however, clad in his family tartan and carrying a heavy leather-bound book is...] TD: Duncan Macbeth! It's the Intercontinental Champion! SR: Turn around Simon! [Lebec slowly turns around... only to receive the heavy book right in the face. He then opens the book and starts to read.] DM: Man, tha' is born o' a woman, has but a short time t' live, an' is full o' misery. [Macbeth stares down at the coughing Lebec as he continues to clutch at his throat, and directs the next sentence directly at the "Savior".] DM: 'E cometh up, an' is CUT DOWN, like a flower. Almighty God, we commend th' soul o' our brother departed, th' "Saviour" Simon Lebec, an' we commit 'is body t' th' ground. [Macbeth reaches into the pocket of his leather jacket, and pulls out a white cloth bag tied with a drawstring. As Lebec continues to gasp for breath on the canvas, Macbeth unties the bag as he continues the burial rites.] DM: Earth t' earth... ashes t' ashes... [Macbeth moves to stand over Lebec's head, holding the open bag over Lebec's face.] DM: Dust... t' dust. [A fine white powder pours from the bag directly into Lebec's open eyes through the holes in his mask! Big crowd pop!] TD: That's salt! Look at Lebec! He's trying to claw his eyes out! He's in agony! SR: It looks like Simon is going to be tagging up with Blitzsphere! TD: Macbeth is laughing as he climbs out of the ring! The choir is incensed! They are pulling rocks out from under thier robes! SR: Look at that! The Scot is staring them down! They're afraid to throw the rocks! [As Macbeth strolls down the aisle, Deathbringer and the Blind Guardian enter the aisle from the other end to a big pop from the crowd! Deathbringer, his face still covered by the cowl, makes his way purposely down towards the ring, and meets Duncan Macbeth halfway. The two men stop and stare at one another for a moment.] TD: The cowl is drawn, just like we saw him backstage. He has reached Duncan Macbeth... it looks like he's going after the champ! SR: No such luck. The blind guy stopped him. TD: Macbeth has continued away from the ring area as Deathbringer refocuses on Lebec in the ring. [The cowled wrestler steps through the ropes and picks up the incapacitated Lebec.] TD: He's taking him to the top! He's going to the Burial right away! SR: Why not? The Savior isn't going to put up a fight after what MacWeenie did to him! [Deathbringer lines up Lebec for the top rope tombstone when Simon's arm reaches down and...] TD: He's got the rope! Simon Lebec is shaking the top rope! They both come down! Lebec hits the mat but Deathbringer has been strung up on the top turnbuckle! SR: [in a sort of "Mike Tyson" like falsetto] I'm the Deathbringer! I may not be dead but my manhood now is! [Before either wrestler can get up the ring is swarmed my people coming out of the crowd and sweeping past the choir members.] TD: It's the Harlequins! The referee is calling for the bell as the Harlequins are all over Deathbringer! SR: Three on one! I love it! [Ding! Ding! Ding! Harlequins Comedy and Melody beat the mat with excitement as the three male members of the Harlequin collective bound into the ring and set about Deathbringer. Terror, Chaos, and Tragedy are all over Deathbringer, lashing out with punches and kicks! The crowd goes crazy!] TD: Simon Lebec has just lost the match by disqualification but he's too busy crawling to safety to notice! SR: The Dead Guy is getting to his feet! Doesn't this guy know that when you're getting beaten by three guys you are supposed to go all foetal? TD: Deathbringer is lashing out! He's got Terror by the throat! Oh my! [The crowd gives a huge pop as Deathbringer hoists the huge Terror up by the throat with one arm, and tosses him over the top rope to ringside!] TD: Clothesline on Chaos! He is knocked through the ropes! [Chaos tumbles to the floor, landing on the stunned Terror, as Deathbringer turns to face Tragedy, who suddenly looks a little like a deer caught in the headlights of an oncoming sixteen-wheeler. Deathbringer, his face still hidden by his cowl, clenches his fist as he takes a step towards the smallest Harlequin, the crowd chanting "'BRINGER! 'BRINGER!" SR: Tragedy's in real trouble now! TD: He's not too crazy... he's bailing out of the ring! [Indeed, Tragedy slides out of the ring under the bottom rope, and moves to his comrades, whom have been helped to their feet by Harlequins Comedy and Melody. Tragedy yells for the Harlequins to leave ringside, and the five of them head up the aisle without further ado to the jeers of the crowd. Meanwhile, the Blind Guardian has joined Deathbringer in the ring, and he raises the big man's hand! Huge pop!] RA: Ladies and gentlemen, your winner, as the result of a disqualification: Deathbringer! [Deathbringer drops to one knee in the centre of the ring and raises his outstretched palm to the fans, who respond with another resounding chant of "'BRINGER! 'BRINGER!"] TD: Deathbringer stands triumphant in the middle of the ring! The crowd is going nuts! Deathbringer has not been forgotten by the fans! They love him! SR: What about Lebec, Dross? What kind of chance did Lebec stand here, after he gets attacked -- with no provocation, I might add -- by Macbeth, and then cost the match by those painted morons? TD: There will be another day for Simon Lebec and Deathbringer, Steve Roberts -- but perhaps Lebec will renew his attempts to cleanse Duncan Macbeth of his demons after tonight's skirmish. [The lights in the arena drop, save for a single spotlight, which follows Deathbringer out of the ring and up the aisle as he departs to the cheers of the crowd. Cut back to the broadcast table at ringside.] TD: Perhaps our next match will actually feature some real wrestling, Steve Roberts. I sometimes wonder whether any of the athletes in the IIWF, apart from Ike Sampson, are paying any attention whatsoever to VP Gregg's "Wrestle Clean!" campaign. SR: If you're expecting Steve Manning to wrestle clean, Dross -- dream on. TD: Folks, it's Steve Manning vs. Christopher Stonebreaker headed your way right now. Let's get up to the ring for the introductions. ________ ______ | || |\ \ /\ / /| __|.................................................. | || | \ v v / | __| Christopher Stonebreaker vs. Steve Manning |_||_| \_/\_/ |_|.................................................... WRITER: Mitchell Smallman [Sparkplug Lee stands mid ring, a look of sheer determination on his face. His eyes blaze with the intensity of a man possessed. All the folks at home can see the one thought on Sparky's mind: "This time, I WILL get it right" He raises the mic to his lips for the address of the... surprised pop! Paul Wong walks down the aisle, to a chorus of boos.  He looks awful, like he hasn't slept in days.  Rings are under his eyes, and his hair is unkempt.  He keeps his head down as he walks towards the ring, not looking at anyone.  He's holding a grey fedora in his hands.] TD: What does Paul Wong want?  He's not supposed to be wrestling     tonight. [Paul grabs the microphone from Sparkplug's desk, and slowly walks up into the ring.  He starts speaking.] PW: I, uh....  I don't know what to say... and I... [Paul stops, shakes his head, and lowers the microphone.  He walks out of the ring, stopping by to drop the microphone off.] TD: I don't know what's going on in his mind, Soundbite. SR: Hey, the gay guy lost his companion, now he's completely lost.  It     happens.  I hear there's some bars over in Ft. Lauderdale that     he'd like, he could probably pick up some other guy and get on     with his life. [Sparkplug stands, confused and completely thrown off. He darts his head from side to side in confusion. He does the best he can with his now ruined address.] SL: This match is scheduled for one fall with a ten-minute time limit. First, being accompanied to the ring by... uh... nobody. ["A Country Boy Can Survive" starts up, big pop!] SL: Weighing in at 265lbs., from Lafayyette, Lousiana, he is... CHRISTOPHER STONEBREAAAAAAAAAAAAAAKERRRRRR! [Stonebreaker walks to the ring, gesturing to the crowd, not only slapping hands but acknowledging the fans he can't reach as well. Big pop!] TD: This guy gets more popular every time we see him here on Saturday Night. I like what he stands for. SR: And what's that, Dross? Standing around looking as smart as a cow and only half as good-looking? TD: Sometimes I don't know whether concepts are lost on you or they just run away from you in fear, Steve. SR: Hey, you know what I told you about trying to develop a wit. [Stonebreaker is now in the ring, and he thrusts his right fist into the air, prompting an ear shattering pyrotechnic explosion and a large pop as a solitary firework goes off above the ring!] TD: But as much as I like him, I can't say I like his chances tonight. SL: And his opponent... from Phoenix, Arizona, weighing in at 230lbs... ["The Frayed Ends of Insanity" by Metallica plays, heel pop.] SL: ...he is... "SANGUINARY" STEEEEEEEVE MAAAAAAANINGGGGGGG! [The lights dim, and a small red spotlight illuminates Manning's face, producing an eerie shadow effect. He hops his way to the ring, giving the camera a smile that would make Hannibal Lecter flinch in terror. He wears a "Ban the Tree of Woe!" T-shirt. He slaps hands with the fans, extremely hard, and most retract their attempts after seeing their compatriots grasp their hands in pain. He enters the ring and small, bright red pyrotechnics fall from the ceiling, giving it an atmosphere of raining blood.] SR: You know me, I ain't scared of anything. But if I was, this guy would scare me. [Referee Dave D'Mato signals for the bell to be rung. The two competitors go straight for a collar elbow tie up, or so Manning would like you to believe, as he ducks under and darts underneath the bottom rope, heading for the commentators' table. He grabs a mic, and manages to get himself back to the apron, grinning maniacally at whatever he may say. Stonebreaker shows no fear and stands toe to toe with Manning. Manning makes a motion to speak... and then cracks the mic over Stonebreaker's head, causing him to crumple in a heap at the edge of the ring.] SR: Sound strategy by Manning there, he knows that it's rare for someone to get disqualified in the first move of the match! TD: Reminds me of the days of the Soundbite Pre-match Groin Kick. SR: Stop it, Dross, I'm gettin' all misty eyed here. TD: Steve Roberts, ladies and gentlemen. [Manning stays on the outside, dropping down and grabbing hold of Chris's leg. He lifts it, and plants the back of his kneecap over the edge of the apron, not once, not twice... but three times! He goes over to the timekeepers table and grabs the ring bell!] TD: Uh-oh, Stonebreaker is in Manning territory, and far too soon in this match! He cannot afford to play Manning's game right now! SR: And what is that? "Quigley is the schoolmarm and Steve is the naughty student?" TD: Enough with the Quigley cracks already! SR: Please don't mention cracks and Qui.. TD: I said enough! SR: Fine then, I'll just make fun of you. How's your wife doin' after her liposuction? [Manning takes far too long, enjoying the thrill of holding one of the deadlier ringside objects, and Stonebreaker manages to move his outstretched leg, and kick Manning with the other, sending him sprawling into the restraining barrier. Stonebreaker exits the ring, and picks up the discarded ring bell!] TD: Uh-oh, VP Gregg ain't gonna be happy about this... OH MY! [The rajin' Cajun cracks the bell over Manning's head, causing the bell to emit a loud DING! Stonebreaker then proceeds to "put the boots" to the Sanguinary one, to a large pop! Just as it looks like someone is actually outbrawling Manning, he stops Stonebreaker dead in his tracks with a punch to the... "bread basket".] SR: Awwww man, the memories. [Manning proceeds to grab the previosly attacked leg of Stonebreaker and squirm it into the bars of the restraining barrier. He then climbs the apron once more, leapfrogging over Chris and onto his braced kneecap from at least six feet in the air! Big pop!] TD: MY GOD! Will this man stop at nothing? [Manning grabs the nearby Guatemalan announcers' table, and tips its contents over onto the man from Lafayette!] SR: Wahoo! Take that Ujuambo. TD: Who? Dear me, that table is full of some very heavy equipment and Stonebreaker is now in a pile of it, somewhere in that mess! [Manning crawls into the ring and rolls out again, breaking the count. He returns to the pile, only to be greeted with a sound console to the head, knocking him over! Stonebreaker gets to his feet, wires falling off his 265lb frame. He picks up an unidentified piece of equipment and throws it at Manning!] TD: This is madness! I thought Lestat/Moxy last week was bad! SR: Look at this! Manning doesn't seem to be fazed at all! This is what he loves! [Stonebreaker charges at Manning, throwing him into the rampway. Manning gets up, and as a Stonebreaker tries to pick him up for a body slam, Steve blocks and nail with a DDT on the rampway! Big pop! Manning rushes back to the ring and breaks the count again. He returns and picks up Chris, who come out of nowhere with that bodyslam he originally intended! Grasping his head, Stonebreaker returns to the ring.] SR: It's about time figured that out! Get back in there, boy! [Manning jumps up to the apron, and springboards with a moonsault, this finds the mark on the standing Stonebreaker!] TD: My gosh, you never know what to expect from either of these two! [Manning pick Christopher up and chops him to throat repeatedly until he falls down. He screams in glee.] TD: This man is a rotten, twisted individual. [Manning gets up on the second rope, and drops a modified turnbuckle leg drop, which is dodged by Christopher. Stonebreaker winds up, and plants a right hand that knocks Steve off his feet almost before he's back on them again! Manning, gets up again, smiling, Stonebreaker nails him again with one of the hardest right hands in the sport, and Manning gets up promptly again, grinning like a demented Cheshire cat! The Cajun grabs Manning's unkempt hair and pummels him into the mat with his right hand, and though we cannot see Manning's face, we can easily hear his whelps of joy and giggles!] TD: You hear that? He's _laughing_, Steve Roberts. I think they took the wrong individual to the Leaky Beaver. [Stonebreaker, slightly disturbed by Mannings behaviour, steps back. He bounces off the ropes, and attempts a clothesline, which is ducked by Manning, and on his return trip, Stonebreaker is caught in a deliberate chokehold! As usual, D'Amato takes his sweet time in making the count and Manning holding until the five, only releasing after a warning by the ref. Manning drives the sole of his boot into the side of Stonebreaker's neck, and holds it there until he decides to simply stomp it. Manning waits for Stonebreaker to rise, and bounces off the ropes, only to be caught in a bear hug by the fan favourite!] TD: The fans going nuts here in Palm Beach for the big man, in what may be one of the last events in this building! SR: Hey, did you know that Jehovah's witnesses don't celebrate Halloween? Apparently, they hate it when people come to their door and bother them. TD: As usual, the comments made by Steve Roberts are NOT the views of the IIWF, and we here are open to all forms of spiritual. SR: They know the drill, Dross. [Manning is still in the hold, his eyes rolling back into his head, but his smile still remaining. D'Amato lifts the arm... it drops. Once more... it drops. Once more... it... it slaps D'Amato across the head! The pop is short-lived as Christopher takes this as his cue to belly to belly suplex Manning! Big pop!] TD: Both of these men have been going all out, because of the short time limit in this early bout! [Stonebreaker begins to climb the ropes! Pop! He perches on the top rope, waiting for Manning, who takes an abnormally long time to get up. As Manning rises, Stonebreaker leaps... Big pop!] TD: Patented missile drop kick... CAUGHT BY MANNING! [Manning snatches Stonebreaker clean out of the air and whips him to the canvas with a modified powerbomb, and then grabs Stonebreaker's legs! TD: Did you see that, Steve Roberts? Manning just snatches Stonebreaker right out of the air -- and now he's going for the Quickstriker! SR: It's over! [Suddenly, Stonebreaker reaches up and manages to trap Manning in a small package! D'Amato drops to the mat to make the count as Manning wriggles, trying to get free... 1 -- 2 -- 3! Ding! Ding! Ding! "A Country Boy Can Survive" starts up!] TD: He got him! Stonebreaker grabbed Manning's head in a small package variation and pinned him! SL: Ladies and gentlemen, the winner of the match, as the result of a pinfall... CHRISTOPHER STOOOOOOONEBREAAAAAAKER!!! TD: What an upset! This means a lot to both men! It's going to help young Chris a lot, but this is surely going to hurt Manning's standing! SR: And don't he know it! [Cut to a replay. Stonebreaker leaps off the top rope, and Manning steps back, grabbing both legs. He places the grapevine over, but Chris doesn't allow the legs to cross and grabs a headlock and pulls Manning's shoulders to the mat for the three count, Manning squirming the whole time.] TD: Manning on the outside, not pleased at all. [Steve Manning disappears from the camera's view, only to return from underneath the ring with a shockstick! As Stonebreaker celebrates, Manning blindsides him and sticks the shockstick directly into his kidneys, laughing deviously! HUGE HEEL POP!] TD: NO! NO! NO! NOT THE... NO! [Stonebreaker lies on the mat, and Saguinary continues to pump the voltage through him, as his body convulses. Dave D'Amato tries to intervene, but gets shocked as well for his efforts, and being his size nearly gets blown across the ring!] TD: HE JUST SHOCKED A REFEREE! WHERE IS IKE SAMPSON? [A few more referees come running out as Manning laughs maniacally, and pull the deranged athlete away, one of them receiving the brunt of the stick as well. Manning relents the stick, and starts smashing his own head into the turnbuckle in joy. He returns to kick the fallen Stonebreaker, who is not quite unconscious, but approaching it quickly. The referees try to hold him back, but are busy attending to the two fallen referees. Big POP!] TD: It's Scheffield! Here comes Charles Scheffield! [Manning swipes his shockstick away from the referee, but makes no move for Scheffield. Scheffield gets in the ring and attends to Stonebreaker. He leans over the top rope, screaming at Manning. Manning shrugs turns around, and then, quick as a cat, grabs a pitcher of water from the French broadcast table and douses Scheffield with it, covering him in water in a huge splash!] SR: He hit him with the Big Splash! Oh... please do what I think he's gonna do! [Manning grabs Scheffield's leg, pulls him out of the ring, and shocks him with his instrument of torture! He drives the stick as deep as he can into the newcomer's forehead, thrashing about himself more madly then Scheffield as the current courses through his body! The water causes the conductivity to be so great you can HEAR the horrifying crackle of electricity. Manning does not release until Scheffield stops struggling. Scheffield drops abruptly.] TD: Oh no. Oh no. This is bad, Steve Roberts. [Manning leaves ringside holding his shockstick with the pride one would hold the American flag, to a huge chorus of boos.] SR: [singing] He's Steve Manning, he's handsome, he's brave, he's STRONG! TD: This isn't funny, Steve. SR: [singing] He's Steve Manning, he's got one hell of a shllllllong! TD: Steve. SR: [singing] Everywhere he goes, the people always say... he's STEVE MANNING AND HE PUT SCHEFFIELD OUUUUUT! [Stonebreaker is back on his feet, shaking a little, but Scheffield is in much worse shape. He isn't even moving, he lies face down with his arm underneath the ring.] TD: I know Manning likes to make a statement, but this time he may have gone too far. Charles Scheffield is just a youngster, who was trying to do some good, and you know, there's not a lot of good left in the IIWF. And this is his reward? I think VP Osterhout should suspend Manning indefinitely for this. [Another pitiful shot of Scheffield, still not moving. Christopher Stonebreaker stands over him, screaming "GET US SOME HELP HERE DAMNIT!" Some medical personnel arrive on the scene with a gurney, and delicately raise Scheffield onto it. Chris Stonebreaker follows as they lead him away from ringside, his hand on his forehead in concern.] TD: This is... this is unthinkable. We'll try to have an update on Scheffield's condition before we go off the air tonight. It's things like this I hate about my job. SR: Well, it's folks like you I hate about this job. TD: Show some respect, Steve Roberts. Folks, we must move on -- and this is going to be interesting, to say the least. SR: What? Don't tell me it's another lame tag team match.  You always call them "interesting". TD: No, I'm referring to the interview I'll be doing with Derek Mota momentarily. If you'll excuse me, Steve Roberts. [Dross takes off his headset and walks into the ring, microphone in hand. He looks to the crowd, makes a dramatic pause, and speaks.] TD: Ladies and gentlemen, I present to you a man who seems to have fallen from grace from the IIWF... A man whose hope has been shattered... A man... ["The Great Southern Trendkill" by Pantera starts up prematurely, as Derek Mota makes his way from the dressing room area. Mota is completely dressed in black.   His arms are no longer bandaged, but still clearly wounded. His eyes sear with what cannot be distinguished from torment and rage. All that can be salvaged from his visage is contempt. He walks up the stairway, to a chorus of pitiless boos. He ignores it all, and seemingly ignores Dross when he makes his way into the ring.] TD: Mr. Mota, what can you say about... DM: [not even looking at Dross or the camera as Dross puts the mic to his lips] Shut it. [Moderate heel pop.] TD: Mr. Mota. DM: What do you want me to say? Want me to gloat about what I did last week? Want me to yap about how I'm "winning the war"? Only reason I'm here is that Spreads said I had to, and dammit, a guy's gotta eat. So make this quick, Dross. TD: Well, there's a reason that Mr. Spreadbury wished you here. He wants to speak with you. [Mota throws his arms up in disgust.] DM: Bring him on, Drossy.  Just bring him on. TD: He should be here shortly, he is in the... [Crowd turns around with a small mixed pop as the President of the IIWF, Daniel Spreadbury, makes his way from the backstage area, dressed in a navy IIWF blazer and black pants. He looks concerned, and wastes no time getting into the ring. The crowd pays full heed, realizing that something important is most likely about to happen.] TD: Good evening, President Spreadbury. Thanks for joining us here tonight. DS: Good evening, Tim; good evening, Derek. [Mota just stares off into space, still contemptuously ignorant of his surroundings. Dross returns the mic to his lips:] DS: I said, "Good evening, Derek." Never mind. Derek, I have some things I wish to speak with you about. [Mota does not reply.] DS: Your actions over the past few weeks have been nothing short of atrocious. Your attacks on Timothy N. Turner... [Mixed pop, mostly boos.] DS: ...Ryan Howard last week... [Moderate pop] DS: ...our Intercontinental champion, Duncan Macbeth. [BIG pop!] DS: ...and what interests me most are your attacks on Richard "Moxy" Blue. [Moderate pop, though one section in the highest level of the nosebleed seats goes absolutely nuts.] DS: These attacks cannot go unpunished. [Mota pays no heed. The crowd heat grows, and Mota's arrogance is developing a noise blanket of jeers.] DS: I was thinking of fining you, but that hasn't been working lately. I was thinking of suspending you, but, for your own personal safety... [Spreadbury looks at Derek's bloodied arms] ...it may not be wise to leave you in quiet contemplation of your acts. So what am I to do with you, Derek? What do you suggest? [Dross's hand quivers as he holds the mic. Mota turns around and looks at Spreadbury, then looks away, saying nothing.] DS: Well, I've come up with only one viable option. Joe Petrow's recent rulebook perusals have prompted me to give the old IIWF Handbook another once-over. And I came across an interesting addition. [The President dons his spectacles, and takes out a small card from his right breast pocket, reading its contents out loud.] DS: Section T4, Rule 6: any tandem of two individuals who compete in a tag team contest will be ranked as such in the tag team rankings. [Mota finally speaks.] DM: Big deal. DS: That rule alone is not. But in addition to this one... [He continues to read:] DS: Section J9, rule 4: The IIWF booking committee has the right to sign any singles wrestler or tag team in any match they choose. The wrestlers themselves may not sign a match if it does not meet their wishes, but only matches appointed by the booking committees are legal. Requests may be heeded, but the IIWF booking committee has final say into any and all singles and tag team matches. Derek, the key word here is "tag team". I feel that some time in the tag team ranks will allow you to "chill out" a bit. DM: I ain't ranked in no [BLEEP]ing tag team. DS: As of last week, I'm afraid you are. Until myself and the IIWF booking committee decide otherwise, you will be wrestling tag team matches... WITH RICHARD "MOXY" BLUE! [HUGE POP! Mota finally shows some emotion, and it sure isn't happiness. His fists clench, his eyes widen and he yells as he speaks.] DM: YOU BETTER BE KIDDING, SPREADS! There's no way in HELL that you're gonna catch me teamin' up with that reject! DS: Now calm down Derek, you have to be mature about th... [Mota grabs Spreadbury by the collar, nearly lifting him off the ground. Dross looks on, placing the microphone between Mota's jutting jaw, and Spreadbury's face, which wears a resigned expression.] DM: You don't know that little weasel like I do, so I assume you don't know what it means when you suggest something like that. So I'm giving you one last chance to reconsider or I'm gonna... [Mota unhands Spreadbury and snatches the microphone from Dross, pushing the announcer away. Dross takes the hint and leaves the ring, returning to the broadcast table, while Mota raises the microphone to his lips... but before he can speak, he is interrupted:] VOICE: [over PA] Or you gonna what, Monsier Motah? Mahk Spradbuhree yer beetch? [Big pop as "Oh Yeah Righteous!" blares over the PA and the chords of Joan Jett's "I love Rock and Roll" play on. Richard "Moxy" Blue makes his way to the ringside area, dressed in a neon green and purple kilt, obviously meant to annoy Mota, as well as anyone with cataracts. He pumps his fists to the crowd and walks with a definite swagger in his hips as he saunters to ringside, jawing at Mota and reality itself unminced.] DM: Get in the ring here, loser!  Get in the ring! [Moxy then gives a cheesy "otay" sign to Derek and then begins sprinting around the ring.  Mota is turning around to keep an eye on Richard Blue, obviously not trusting him a bit.] DS: Uh... and as the newest tag team in the IIWF, you are scheduled to wrestle on Wednesday... against the Harlequins! [At this point, Mota just freaks and takes a swing at Daniel Spreadbury!  Thankfully the President was expecting a violent reaction and ducks under the punch, rolling out of the ring, almost getting run over by Moxy on his way out.  Meanwhile, Derek Mota has lost track of Richard Blue, and has his back turned to him as Moxy slides into the ring!] TD: [over headset] Look at this!  Derek doesn't see him! SR: [over headset] Watch this.  This is the part when the gay guy tries to do the tough guy. [The crowd starts cheering louder as Moxy is now only inches away from Mota, who is staring at the scars on his arms.] RMB: Yes!  I've always wanted my own tag team partner!  Thankie, Spreads! TD: [over headset] But... what about Rogers? SR: [over headset] Forget about what I said, Dross.  This Moxy is an insult to gay guys around the world.  TD: [over headset] And that's saying a lot, coming from Steve Roberts, folks. [Moxy grabs an unsuspecting Mota and lays into him with a great big ... HUG! Derek finally realizes what the crowd's been trying to tell him for ages and struggles to get out, eventually nailing Moxy with a Jaw Drop.  Blue hits the ground hard, holding his jaw with both of his hands in pain.] DM: Someone finally found a way to shut you up, ya little bastard!  If you think for one second that I'm gonna be your little pretty boy tag team partner, think twice, boy!  I don't need any friends anymore... Derek Mota can make it on his own.  And Spreadbury... you try a stunt like this again... next time I ain't gonna miss. [As Mota leaves the ring and walks back to the dressing room, the sounds of Moxy whining through what could be a broken jaw are heard.] RMB: Caline de bines!!  Eees that how you treeeet yair tag team partnair, Derhek?  Ahd hate to see how de Harlequeens ayr gonna feel!  Let's gettem, mon frere! [Moxy finally gets back up to his feet, raising his arms in victory, to which his parents in the top section give a loud pop.  Of course, his arms then snap back to his jaw which he tries to snap back into place as he walks back to the dressing room.] TD: This could be the beginning of something real ugly. SR: Let the pool begin.  I put my bet for one week.  TD: It could be even shorter than that!  These men will be facing the Harlequins on Wednesday! SR: The things Dictator Danny does to pop the ratings. TD: This is going to be a very interesting situation, folks. But right now, we have to head right on to our next tag team match. SR: Let me guess, it'll be "interesting," right, Dross? TD: Very much so, Steve Roberts. The Down Boys are scheduled to do battle with the Prophets of Rage -- what a match in prospect! Let's get up to the ring! ________ ______ | || |\ \ /\ / /| __|.................................................. | || | \ v v / | __| Prophets of Rage vs. Down Boys |_||_| \_/\_/ |_|.................................................... WRITER: Mike Sonby [Sparkplug heads into the ring, not noticing the large "KICK ME!" sign taped to the back of his blue tuxedo.] SR: Sad. SL: Ladies and Gentlemen, the next contest is a tag team match! Introducing first, weighing a combined 457 pounds, led by their manager, Awesome T, here are "Superstud" Adam Peterson and "Dazzling" Dan Oliver, the DOWN BOYS! [Down Boys by Warrant starts up, and Awesome T leads his men down the aisle.  Tonight, Dan Oliver has Once Bitten, Twice Shy written on the back of his trunks, while Adam Peterson has Smokin' in the Boys Room airbrushed over his tights.] SR: Great.  Lyrics by Poison.  Just what I needed. TD: Poison?  All they did was a cheap carbon copy of the Brownsville Station classic, Soundbite! SR: Tim Dross... rock 'n' roll icon. SL: And their opponents, weighing a combined total of 663 pounds, led to the ring by Medusa Rage and Pizzazz, here are Derek Rage and Dirt Dog Unique Allah, the PROPHETS OF RAGE! [Warrant is replaced by Ol' Dirty Bastard, and "Snakes" plays over the speakers.  Medusa and Pizzazz step out, and lead the way for the Prophets.  Dirt Dog is cuddling a brown paper bag, while Derek Rage is staring towards the ring with murder in his eyes.] TD: How do you see this matchup, Steve? SR: You gotta love these tags, Dross.  Really, you do.  I mean it. TD: I'm sure you do, Soundbite.  SR: Of course I do.  After carefully analyzing the teams, calculating the coefficient of air resistance and factoring in the extra gravitational spin of being so close to the equator, well, the answer is obvious. TD: And that answer is... SR: Dross.  Look at the Gay Boys.  Look at Derek Rage.  The Prophets are going to chew up the these air guitar fanatics, and there won't even be a bone or two to spit out afterwards.  My fellow brothers are going to annihilate these freaks. [The official signals for the bell: Ding! Ding! Ding! Dan Oliver steps into the ring... and stand nose to chest with the seven foot Derek Rage.  Rage goes for a lockup, but Oliver ducks under Rage, grabs his leg and trips Rage up.  Oliver quickly snaps on a headlock, but Rage gets to his and shoves Oliver to the ropes.  Oliver nails Rage with a shoulderblock that doesn't budge the Age of Rage member.  Rage goes for another lockup, Oliver ducks down again, but this time Rage grabs Oliver by the head and throws him into their corner, where Allah nails Oliver with a jab to the throat.  Oliver tries to catch some air while Rage charges into the corner and avalanches the Down Boys, sending him sprawling to the mat.  Rage tags in Allah and then grabs Oliver in a waistlock, allowing Allah to leap off the ropes and dropkick Oliver in the face.] TD: And the Prophets of Rage with an early edge in the match. SR: Early edge?  Here's the difference; the Prophets of Rage are the Biscuits.  The Down Boys are nothing but yeast infections. TD: I don't know what's worse, Soundbite.  These odd metaphors you use... or the fact that I understand them. [Allah covers for a one count, then whips Oliver into the ropes and nails him with a legwhip.  Dirt Dog goes outside to the ring apron, and as Oliver stands up he leaps off the ropes with a clothesline plancha that misses.  Oliver, in control for the first time in the match, drops an elbow to the back of his head, then legscissors the arm.  Allah reaches the ropes, forcing the break, and both men tag their partners in.  The crowd cheers as the hometown boy Peterson enters the ring, and he starts stomping on the mat to encourage the cheers.] TD: The fans are really enjoying seeing Peterson for this homecoming.  SR: Yes.  Going toe-to-toe with Derek Rage.  Sounds like a fun time to me.  Now Pizzazz would be a different story altogether... [Peterson and Rage lock up.  Rages gets Peterson in a headlock, but the Down Boy picks him up and atomic drops Rage, then shoves him to the ropes.  He bends down for a backdrop, but Rage stops in his tracks, grabs his head, and slams it into the mat.  Peterson cringes, while Rage bounces off the ropes and drops a forearm across his head.  Rage tags in Allah, then picks up Peterson and starts wailing away with fists.  This brings in Oliver, who catches Rage with a dropkick from behind.  But it also distracts Peterson long enough for Dirt Dog to grab Peterson from behind in a full nelson, then spin around and DDT him to the mat.  Rage throws Oliver out to the floor, and ignore the referee's warning as he picks up Peterson.] SR: The Downers are getting killed by the Ragers. TD: The Down Boys have shown themselves to be a good team, and have come back from tougher odds.  Have faith in them. [Rage climbs the ropes while Dirt Dog grapevines the leg and turns Peterson over on his stomach.  With a howl, Derek Rage flies off the ropes and lands both feet on the back of Peterson's head.  Rage leaves the ring as Dirt Dog turns him back and covers for a two count.  Allah grabs Peterson in a front facelock, reaches behind him and tags in Derek Rage.  Peterson lifts Allah up and nails an inverted atomic drop, but doesn't see Rage in the ring until the clothesline nearly decapitates him.  Derek Rage covers: 1 -- 2 -- kickout!] TD: Almost had him there. SR: The Ragers are just playing around.  When they're serious about ending this, they will. [Rage gets up and starts to climb the ropes.  He looks down on Peterson, then falls as Dan Oliver hops up to the apron and shoves him off the turnbuckle.  Oliver heads over to the corner as Peterson manages to roll over and tag in "Dazzling" Dan, who leaps over the top rope to drop an elbow on Rage.  Oliver drops a second elbow on Rage, then heads out to the apron and does a springboard legdrop on the big man.  He covers for a two count, then applies a Fish Stretch Sleeper on Rage.  At seven foot two inches, Derek Rage is always close to the ropes, and by stretching out forces the break.  Oliver picks up Rage and drives him into his corner, where he tags in Peterson.  Peterson climbs up the turnbuckle, leaps off, and bulldogs Rage into the mat, then covers for another two count.  He reaches up and tags Dan Oliver back in.] TD: The Down Boys showing their agility and teamwork to wear down Derek Rage. SR: They've got a lot of wearing down to do... [Peters keeps Rage on the mat with a front facelock, and Oliver hops up to the top turnbuckle, turns around, and lands a Moonsault eldowdrop onto Rage.  He covers for: 1 -- 2 -- Rage puts his foot on the ropes. Oliver tries to Irish whip Rage, but is reverse, and Derek Rage shocks the Florida crowd with a textbook hurricarana onto Oliver.] TD: What a move by Derek Rage! SR: Hey, Shadoe Rage is the baddest mother in the IIWF this side of Kowalski.  Of course Derek's going to learn a few things from him. [Neither man moves for a few seconds, then Derek Rage slowly rolls over towards his corner.  He reaches up and tags Dirt Dog back into the ring, but instead of leaving, rolls back on top of Oliver to prevent a tag. The referee tries to pull Rage off Oliver as he pummels the Down Boy, but he doesn't leave until Dirt Dog drops an elbow onto Oliver.  As Dave D'Amato forces Rage to leave, Dirt Dog throws Oliver out of the ring. Oliver starts to get up, but Dirt Dog bounces off the ropes and dives through with a plancha that sends both men sprawling onto the floor. Peterson, unable to contain himself any longer, hops up to the top turnbuckle and splashes Allah on the floor, drawing another cheer from the crowd.] TD: Both teams have delivered a tremendous amount of action during this match. SR: [yawning]  Wake me when the blood starts flowing. [Now Rage hops off the apron to join the others outside the ring, while Peterson revives Oliver.  Rage charges with a clothesline, but  Peterson ducks, and both Peterson and Oliver pick up Rage and deliver a Hotshot, catching his throat on the steel guardrail!  D'Amato is screaming at the teams to re-enter the ring, and Oliver reluctantly rolls back under the ropes, breaking the countout.  Peterson throws Dirt Dog back into the ring, where Oliver whips him into the neutral turnbuckle.  Oliver follows it up with a Stinger splash, but Allah just drops to the mat, and Oliver splashes the turnbuckle.  Allah whips Oliver into the ropes and follows through with another leg lariat, but Oliver sidesteps, and it is the Dirt Dog who crashes to the mat.  Oliver reaches over to tag Peterson back into the ring.  Peterson grabs Allah and dumps him with a waistlock suplex, then covers for a 1...2... Derek Rage enters the ring and kicks Peterson's head, breaking the count.  D'Amato escorts Rage out of the ring, but as Peterson steps towards Allah, the Dirt Dog leaps and catches Peterson with a dropkick to the groin.  Peterson falls down in agony, and Allah tags in Derek Rage.] TD: This have been a very even match. SR: [rubbing his eyes]  Huh?  Any... TD: No blood yet, Steve Roberts. SR: Humph.  All right.  [Soft snoring sounds are heard from the broadcast table as Derek Rage enters the ring and gorilla presses Peterson above his head before dropping him on the mat.  Rage bounces off the ropes and splashes Peterson, then bounces off the ropes again and drops a knee across Peterson's stomach.  He rolls over Peterson and gets a: 1 -- 2...] TD: He kicked out!  Peterson looked unconscious, but he kicked out. [A frustrated Rage tags in Allah, who picks up Peterson and throws him in the turnbuckle, then monkey flips him out of it.  Meanwhile,  some fans are starting to notice something, and start pointing to the ceiling.] TD: What the?  STeve Roberts, you're not going to believe this. SR: Huh?  Oh my God... Adam West is here! [The crowd gives a big pop as someone in a Batman costume is sliding down a rope from the rafters toward the ringside area.  In the ring, Dirt Dog whips Peterson into the ropes and tilt-a-whirls him, but Peterson uses his momentum to land on his feet, picks up Allah, and tilt-a-whirl Allah into a backbreaker! Big pop! Dan Oliver leaps off the ropes with a 450 splash onto Dirt Dog.] TD: Unskinny Bop!  The Down Boys put the Unskinny Bop on Allah! This match is over! SR: What's Adam West doing? [The Batman figure lands, and is now seen holding a bat.  Everyone at ringside is too occupied with the in-ring action, until the Batman figure grabs the bat and swings...] TD: He hit Awesome T!  Whoever this is just nailed Awesome T with the baseball bat! SR: It might not be Adam West.  Maybe Michael Keaton?  George Clooney?  I don't think it's Val Kilmer, but... [Now the referee notices the outside action, and Dave D'Amato leaves the ring to check on Awesome T.  The Batman figure throws the bat inside the ring and takes off, barely in time to avoid a charging Dan Oliver. Oliver and D'Amato check on Awesome T, who looks like he has a tremendous bump on the head.] TD: Whoever this Batman person is just nailed Awesome T, and the manager looks hurt. SR: You think he's hurt?  That other Downer is in the ring with Derek Rage, Dirt Dog, and a baseball bat.  That's NOT a good idea. [Unless you're the Prophets of Rage, who love it.  They nail Peterson with a double clothesline, then spot the bat that Batman left in the ring.  Using the bat instead of hooking the arms, they plant Peterson with a spike powerbomb.  Dirt Dog throws the bat outside the ring and calls for D'Amato.  D'Amato looks in the ring, sees Derek Rage covering Adam Peterson, and counts the: 1 -- 2 -- 3! Ding! Ding! Ding!] RA: The winner of this bout... the PROPHETS OF RAGE! TD: The Prophets of Rage win, with an assist from whoever was in the Batman costume. SR: Yeah.  Bruce Wayne is a Rage fan! [Dan Oliver slaps the mat in frustration as he realises that his partner has been pinned, and pulls Peterson out of the ring under the bottom rope. Peterson clutches the back of his head as he bends to try and help the groggy Awesome T to his feet. Oliver shakes his head with disappointment as he and his partner support their stunned manager and help him up the aisle to a sympathetic cheer from the fans.] TD: Dan Oliver has to help both Awesome T and Adam Peterson leave the ring, with both the loss and a few bumps on the head. [The Prophets of Rage celebrate in the ring to the strains of "Snakes", Unique lying down on the mat and opening his mouth wide, while Derek pours the alcohol out of the bottle wrapped in brown paper from a great height, the foul liquid splashing out and onto the canvas as the Dirt Dog gargles. The fans give a mixed pop as Unique finally picks himself up, and the four members of the Rage entourage leave the ring. Cut back to the broadcast table at ringside.] TD: Well, the Down Boys arguably robbed of what would have been a famous victory over the Prophets of Rage by a mysterious figure garbed as Batman. SR: Whoever it was is real funny, don't you think, Dross? _Bat_-man? Get it? TD: Indeed, Steve Roberts -- but I don't think either Awesome T or Adam Peterson find it particularly funny. Folks, we must move on -- and our next match features two of the giants of the IIWF, as newcomers Gunnar "Grizzly" Gaines, who made such an impression on Steve "the Fury" Kowalski last Saturday Night, and Battalion, who made a sound debut against Marty Warnett, go one on one here in the West Palm Beach Auditorium! Let's get up to the ring! ________ ______ | || |\ \ /\ / /| __|.................................................. | || | \ v v / | __| Gunnar "Grizzly" Gaines vs. Battalion |_||_| \_/\_/ |_|.................................................... WRITER: Mike Beeby [Before Sparkplug enters the ring, he feels a tap on his shoulder.  He turns around, and Paul Wong looks in his face.  He holds out his hand, and Sparkplug hands the microphone over to him.  Paul enters the ring, and begins to address the audience, still looking down at the mat.] PW: I... wasn't able to speak before.  I'm sorry.  [more softly] I'm     very sorry.  I just... [A group of fans start a chant of "MIKI! MIKI!"  Paul turns towards the group, and looks at them.  Not with anger, or shock, or disgust... just a blank stare.  Then, he closes his eyes, throws down the microphone, and walks out of the ring again.  Several boos are heard for the second interruption.] TD: Paul Wong is taking this attack by the Fabulous Ones and Ms. Miki     very hard. SR: Someone tell him to get a life!  He got dumped, that's all. [As Paul Wong makes his exit up the aisle, Sparkplug enters the ring with the microphone in hand, ready to introduce the next match.] SL: Ladies and gentlemen, the following contest is scheduled for one fall.  Introducing first, from Richmond, Virginia and weighing in at a mighty 345 pounds, the master of the Apocalypse Bomb...     BATTALION! [Metallica's classic hit, "Seek And Destroy", starts pumping out of the PA system to a mild pop from the crowd.  Battalion emerges from the entrance and walks down the aisle in his wrestling gear and army jacket, casually tagging a few of the fans lined up down the aisle.  He gets into the ring, and "Bad to the Bone" replaces Battalion's music.] SL: And his opponent... Hailing from Fairbanks, Alaska, and weighing in at 357 pounds, ranked #1 in the world for the year of 1996, the man who retired the EWA Heavyweight Championship... GUNNAR "GRIZZLY" GAINES! [Gunnar Gaines emerges from the locker rooms to a huge pop, and wearing an army helmet on his head.  As he makes his way down to the ring, he goose-steps, which works to make Battalion madder than before, awaiting his opponent.] TD: And here comes the highly-touted big man, Steve Roberts -- Gunnar Gaines made a big splash last week when he marched right into the World Championship match between Steve Kowalski and the Meatman and laid both men out. SR: Which showed that he has cajones, but not necessarily a whole lot of brains, Dross. Nobody crosses the Fury and just walks away. TD: Maybe so, but Gaines is taunting his opponent here tonight. Battalion doesn't look in the least impressed. [As Gunnar steps up onto the ring apron, he makes an air-rifle motion with his hands and pretends to fire right at his opponent.  Unable to contain himself any longer, Battalion rushes at Gaines swinging away, but Gunnar blocks a mighty fist and rattles Battalion with one, then ducks his head and shoulders in between the top and middle ropes for a shoulderblock into Battalion's midsection.  It staggers Battalion backwards, and Gunnar dives through the ropes with a suicide style dive, but since it's into the ring it's a very short trip.  Gaines knocks Battalion down and himself lands half in, half out of the ring, his feet still sticking out of the ropes.] TD: An impressive start for Gunnar "Grizzly" Gaines, he's managed to outmuscle the musclebound Battalion. SR: Yeah, the Grizzly's an animal, all right. TD: Clever, Steve. [Gunnar gets to his feet first and quickly pulls Battalion up by the hair, then grabs him in a side headlock.  A shove-off from Battalion throws Gaines into the ropes, then he comes back into the middle of the ring for a shoulderblock that does little to move either man.  Battalion beats his hands on his chest in a show of anger, then shoves Gunnar Gaines backwards. Gunnar looks at him for a second and does the same, then motions as if he were going to shove Battalion in response, but instead executes a kneelift and then a jawbreaker.  Gunnar sends Battalion into the ropes with an Irish whip and then tries a clothesline, but it's ducked and Battalion comes back with a diving shoulderblock, finally able to send Gunnar backwards and into the corner.  Once there, Battalion stands on the turnbuckles and starts to deliver mounted punches in series, and the crowd counts along with each hammering blow.  Gunnar finally reaches around and grabs the legs of Battalion around the knees, then with a vicious jerk snaps Battalion head and backfirst to the mat from high above.  The force of the blow nearly knocks Battalion out, and Gunnar looks out at the crowd.] TD: This man is quite vicious, and it's qualities like that which made     him the number one ranked wrestler two years ago.  The mighty IIWF     just keeps on growing, and adding the best talent from around the     world. SR: You wouldn't believe who they're rumoured to be bringing in next,     Dross.  It'd break your heart. TD: Is that a riddle? SR: Yeah, wrapped in a Musashi. TD: Huh? SR: An enigma, Dross. [As Gunnar wastes a little time playing up to the crowd, Battalion slowly works back to his feet, and leans on the ropes trying to clear his head. Just as the legendary "Grizzly" turns around, Battalion charges across the ring and clotheslines Gunnar over the top rope, where he lands with a thud on the floor.  Battalion shouts down to Gunnar to taunt him, but Gaines quickly takes the legs out from under his opponent and pulls him out to the floor, before ramming his head into the ringpost.  Gaines turns to the camera and shouts while pointing at Battalion: "You, Maggot, are dismissed!"  He picks Battalion up and whips his headfirst into the ringsteps, but Battalion reverses and throws Gunnar in.  With an incredible show of agility, Gunnar leapfrogs the steps, then turns around and salutes Battalion mockingly.] TD: Oh my! Three hundred plus pounds, and still Gaines is able to move like a man who weighs at least a hundred pounds less. [Gunnar rolls into the ring first and greets Battalion with a knee to the kidneys, then pulls him up and executes a vertical suplex to the canvas. Gunnar next climbs to the top rope and stands there, ready for the Grizzy Splash.  He flinches, causing Battalion to roll desparately out of the way, and Gunnar leaps to the spot where Battalion rolled to, landing the Grizzly Splash to a momentous pop.] TD: He landed it! [The referee slaps the mat as Gunnar covers: 1 -- 2 -- 3!  Ding! Ding! Ding!] SL: Ladies and gentlemen, here is your winner as a result of a pinfall... GUNNAR "GRIZZLY" GAINES! TD: Gunnar Gaines wins his first outing here on IIWF Saturday Night, and     rather handily. SR: He's a world class athlete, Dross, what did you expect?  A one move     wonder like Luke "Not quite a heel" Steele? [Gaines exits victorious from the ring. The crowd shows its appreciation by screaming and cheering.  Gaines is caught on camera saying "That's how it done!"  He stops to point at a huge six foot wide sign that is held up by two rabid fans. It reads: "Gunnar Is God!"  Obviously pumped up by the sign, Gaines raises his arm up... only to be cut down!] TD: A chair! The Grizzly has been hit with a chair form the crowd! SR: Hot damn! Retribution! [The huge poster splits down the middle as a chair cuts it open, crashing down on the big Grizzly! As much as the crowd is, Gunnar is stunned. Steve Kowalski hops over the railing and clocks Gaines full in the face with the chair, opening up a nasty gash on Gaines' forehead! Blood spurts from the hulking man's face. A third strike brings Gaines to his knees, oblivious to the world around him. A cameraman is on the scene, picking up the New Jersey Nightmare's comments...] SK: Payback's Hell, Gunnar... an' I'm the Devil dishin' it out! [Another swing drops the prone Gaines down. Kowalski opens the folding chair and sits in it. The crowd starts the ever present "SKULLPUMP!" chant when he puts his hand to his ear.] TD: This is madness!  Pure and unadulterated madness!  We need to get     the JJS down here!  Gaines is in a bad way and I don't think the     IIWF Champion is done yet!  We need... Steve, sit down! SR: You da man, Fury!  Spill it!  Spill the new blood, baby! SK: [jumping up from the chair] Ya want blood?!  I'll give it to ya! [Pulling Gaines up from the floor via his hair, Kowalski folds the chair around Grizzly's neck. Puts the big man's neck under his arm, chair and all... and signals for the Garden State Bulldog!  The crowd gives him a resounding affirmative.  He complies... Huge Fury Pop!] TD: Dear God!  Garden State Bulldog!  The Fury bulldogged Gaines with     that chair around his neck!  That could have broken his neck! This is out of control! SR: No way!  He's _in_control in an out of control world!  And I like     it! [Kowalski gets up and stands over the limp body of Gaines and says...] SK: Don't ferget, Gunnar... This is the Double Eye!  The bumps're a     little harder. [And with that, the JJS escorts the champion out of the ringside area. Not giving any resistance, Kowalski complies with a smirk on his face, raising his arms to the ecstatic crowd, who chant "FU-RY! FU-RY! FU-RY!"] SR: _And_ he gets to come back and wrestle! What a show! [Security staff and extra officials make their way down the aisle to tend to Gunnar Gaines, who has managed to disentangle himself from the mangled chair which was wrapped around his thick neck. Two suited officials try to help Gaines to his feet -- and are shoved backwards by a meaty arm! One suit collides with the steel crowd barriers, his head connecting with a clang, as Gaines pulls himself to his feet, blood pouring down his face. The other officials and referees form a cautious circle around Gaines, wary of approaching him.] TD: Look at that, Steve Roberts! Gaines is on his feet -- and he really lives up to his moniker. SR: I don't know, Dross. Right now, I'd say he's more "grisly" than "Grizzly"! TD: I beg your pardon? SR: I guess you'd have to see it written down, Dross. TD: Gunnar Gaines is making his way back to the locker room, bloody but unbowed -- and if he gets his hands on Steve Kowalski again tonight, we could have a real pier sixer on our hands! SR: Security had better keep that big cahoona locked up for the rest of the show, Dross -- I don't want anybody spoiling the Fury's little present for Shadoe Rage. [The crowd begin to settle once more as the suits gingerly follow the half-lumbering, half-staggering -- but all determination -- Gunnar Gaines back to the locker room. Cut back to the broadcast table at ringside.] TD: A tremendous win for Gunnar Gaines over Battalion here tonight, folks, and the military man is still looking for his first win here in the IIWF. That just about wraps it up for our first hour, except... [Suddenly, the Sunshine State crowd erupts into boos as Tina Turner's "Simply the Best" begins to play. Ronnie Paris does not appear right away, but he's disliked enough that the crowd continues to boo him loudly as they wait.] TD: ...except for this man. We haven't seen or heard from Ronnie Paris since he lost the Cruiserweight Title back at Snow Brawl, and I imagine he'll have a lot to get off his chest. SR: If he's anything like his wife he'll be putting something _on_ his chest. TD: I'm not sure that's... oh my, what the hell is going on here! [The boos intensify loudly as Paris walks out, wearing a pair of loose fitting Levis, dark sunglasses and a Dallas Stars cap. Most noticeably, however, he wears a shirt that simply reads "IIWF Sucks!". Overall, he just looks darker and more serious, as he now sports a full grown Van Dyke. Partly for his past transgressions and partly for the shirt, Paris hears nothing but boos as he walks to the ring, but for a change he ignores the crowd totally. Paris leaps up to the ring apron and steps in, never pausing to take the hat or shades off, and strides to the centre of the ring where a microphone awaits him.] TD: Now I'm really interested to hear what he has to say! How can he     justify that shirt? SR: Give the man a chance, he's a good American. [Paris raises the mic to his mouth, and pans his head to look at all his detractors. They get louder when they see he wants to speak, so he just stands there waiting for the noise to die down. It's slow in doing so, but people are starting to decide they need their voices for the main event and are giving it up.] RP: A few very interesting things happened to me in the last few weeks... a few things I'm going to share with you now. What all started it, at least from your point of view on the wrong end of the boob tube, was at Snow Brawl when I lost the Cruiserweight Title. What happened there, when my wife came out and had her skirt lifted up by that pig of a Guatemalan announcer right there... [Paris points over at the foreign announce table, where a portly Hispanic man professes his innocence in Spanish] ...he did something you can't do in the nineties. Sexual harrassment. So you know what my wife and I did? We sued the     IIWF for every damn penny it was worth! [Another earth-shattering heel pop breaks out as Paris just smiles, loving his chance in the spotlight.] RP: Being the slimy little creatures they are, the board of directors     weaseled off the hook and Dan Spreadbury offered me anything,     ANYTHING, to settle out of court. So I got the only thing I've ever     wanted here. If you can remember back a few months ago, and I know     that's tough for people who don't remember what they had for     breakfast, you'd recall what that was I wanted. For those who can't     think back, here goes: my IIWF contract has been voided. You can     take this job and stuff it! [Paris continues to gloat, making "I'm outta here" motions with his thumb towards the exit. Some of the crowd cheer that he's leaving, but overall they're booing because of his tone.] TD: [over headset] Ronnie Paris, it seems, is no longer an IIWF'er, and     that may be for the better. RP: Before I go, though, I still have a few minutes, and I'm gonna use     them well. I'm going to talk about how the powers that be, for over a damn year, misused me. They decided to make Ronnie Paris pay more dues than if he'd brought back a library book a decade late! They decided my glass ceiling should be set at a cup of coffee with the Cruiserweight Title when I was winning titles like that in Japan, and holding them for months, before I turned twenty! They decided that my role was playing the buffoon, the cartoonish villian, and in the big payoff match getting my ass handed to me by a hammy actor or a disturbed Karate Kid ripoff! They decided to push no-talent idiots who get by on being able to bleed or jump through tables or use barbed wire... and they just give me the shaft! [Paris runs one hand through his closely cropped hair as the boos, and some garbage, continue to rain down on him. Sparkplug Lee seems to be imploring him to shut up from his table, but Paris pays him no heed.] RP: Now, in these past few weeks, the geniuses in the corner offices     decide to hold my contract over my head and make my father part of this circus side show! They threaten to bury me for the last two years of that contract if my wife doesn't get the obscene surgery done! Well, Jim, you may have had a big idea for me, and Dan you may have planned where I was going, but sexual harrassment wasn't part of the plan! No one ran that past me... and that made it my out. Out of this weak-kneed, over-hyped, half-ass excuse for a wrestling promotion and a ticket to free agency. Away from all the ladder match, burning cage, singles wrestlers winning tag battle royals bull and back to where people have some respect for talent like me. And that ain't here, and it sure as hell ain't Portland! [More loud jeering from the fans, a "RONNIE SUCKS! RONNIE SUCKS!" chant building in volume around the Auditorium.]     I'm done here now. I've got nothing left to do except, out of the     kindness of my heart, offer President Spreadbury some advice. Number one, look up the word "talent" in a dictionnary, you might get an idea of how to use it. Number two, I know you like your little "Road to Ring Wars" tours, but no matter what, never bring your pathetic little circus to my state, because Lone Star fans still recognize real wrestling and they'd boo you into the next time zone! Finally, don't call me... because I sure as HELL ain't gonna call you. [Paris walks off much as he came, ignoring the fans, as a loud chorus of "You sold out!" begins. The Texan instead pays attention to the camera, finally taking off the shades and allowing his face to soften, saying, "I'm coming home, dad." Cut back to the announce position.] TD: Some controversial parting shots there from third-generation wrestler Ronnie Paris -- who, I would assume, we will not be seeing in the IIWF in the forseeable future. SR: Aw, he's a right little shooter, ain't he, Dross? At least, that's what that tramp of a wife of his tells me. TD: Please, Steve Roberts. SR: This is the Double Eye Double U F'n' F, baby dolls -- no love, no learnin'. If you can't take the heat, get the hell out of the kitchen and make room for those that can. Bring on the ugly guys, Dross! Bring on the barbed wire, bring on the blood! [The fans have now settled into the "goodbye song", chanting "Na-na! Na-na-na-na! Hey Ron-nie... Good-bye!" over and over again as the spotlights swing over the capacity crowd.] TD: Folks, that's it for our first hour here tonight, as this Sunshine State crowd bids farewell to Ronnie Paris in finest IIWF fashion -- and we'll be right back after these messages with another sixty minutes of action as only the number one wrestling organisation in the world today can bring you. Don't go away! [Cut to a wide-angle shot of the West Palm Beach Auditorium as the fans continue their chant, the multi-coloured spotlights from the rigging above the ring swinging over the crowd. Fade.] +=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= I * I * W * F =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-+ | President: Daniel Spreadbury | Vice-President: Gregg Osterhout | | univ0322@sable.ox.ac.uk | ghost@frii.com | | iiwf@sisko.demon.co.uk | | +=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- http://www.sisko.demon.co.uk -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=+