________ ______ | || |\ \ /\ / /| __| |\ /| /\ |\ | | /\ \ / | || | \ v v / | __| | v |/ \| \| __| /__\ \/ |_||_| \_/\_/ |_| | |\ /| |/ |/ \/ | | \/ | |\_// /\ |\ /| | _ | / __ / __ | v | | | / \ . |\ | / \ / \ | | | | \__ | | \| | __ \__ 23 February 1998 | | | | \ | | | \__| \ .....................|..v_____/.|.|..|____|____/ ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Team Sychosys ------------------------------------------------------------------------ [The tradition started last summer has been rekindled, as Team Sychosys is having an after-match tailgate party in the parking lot of the Juan Lubriel Stadium. Liquor flows freely, providing an effective bridge over the language barrier between the Spanish speaking Sychopaths and Team Sychosys. "Sychosys" Joe Petrow swaggers with a bottle of El Paralizar mescal, containing little more than a teaspoon of liquid and the worm, and a very hyped up "Mr. Majestyk" Maurice McArthur, obviously pumped up over his impressive performance tonight.] JP: Y'know, they say that a tie is like kissing your sister. But if you ever saw my sister, you wouldn't say that was such a bad thing, and this wasn't either! Cause ya see, the Funky Like A Monkey tour ain't about jacking up our win-loss percentage, because it's already one of the best in the IIWF! What this is about, is respect, and after tonight, I'm sure that this man has g--HEY! [Mr. Majestyk comes out from behind, grabs the bottle from Petrow, and chugs the contents, worm and all. McArthur lets out a carnal yell, while Petrow appears to be in a rage.] JP: Gawd DAMMIT Maurice! It took me three days to work to the bottom of that bottle, you son-of-a-bitch! THAT WORM IS MINE!!! [McArthur is no longer paying attention, as he approaches a young woman, shouts, "Hey, Chiquita! I got your Human Torture Rack right here baby!" and crotch-chops himself. Petrow shakes his head, and returns his attention to the camera] JP: Well, at least people are starting respect our wrestling ability! And speaking of respect, congratulations Mac'n'tim, you got ours! Especially standing by our side to drive away the biggest disgrace to tag team wrestling this side of Violence Unlimited! Guys, just give up the singles ranks and come down where your talents are appreciated! [McArthur is dancing in the background to music only he can hear, as he shouts, "Screw Gecko! _I_ am the lizard king!" The Duck Savior flies into the shot, and flies away just as quickly] JP: Now, the Funky Like a Monkey World Tour continues! Next week, heh, hey, who do you think? That's right, the Fabulous Ones, duking it out with us for the title of King of Japan. We're both going home guys, so let's make it special. Guys, wear your finest wrestling boots, and Miki, wear your finest mask. We'll all appreciate it! [A rare Caucasian fan, inebriated as well, screams from the back "They killed the Machines! You bastards!"] And of course, the whole tour hasn't been decided yet, but we know who we want waiting for us at the end. The only guys who can show us just how much respect we've earned, The Natural Predators. Guys, we challenge you now. At Ring Wars V, bring the belts, leave the belts, hell, lose the belts for all we care. Just bring yourselves! [Meanwhile, 4M's revelry has come to an end, as he starts to sway to the rhythm of an uneasy queasiness. Suddenly, Petrow slaps his head as if he realized he could've had a V8] JP: Oh, I almost forgot! We made a very important decision today! We have elected a NEW member into TS! Unfortunately, we can't tell ya who it is now. Actually, we ain't even told him yet! But as much as we loves the tags, we can't just let the singles ranks fall into tenth level of hell. The seventh level is bad enough. So we're getting someone take to care of that ugly business for us, to treat the singles ranks with the "respect" that it has earned for itself. And perhaps *finally* unite the two world titles once and for all. Cause in the words of Fidel Castro...WHOOOO! [Petrow turns around and heads to McArthur, grabbing at the suffering 4M's face while yelling "Gimme my worm back!" as the camera fades out on the Sychopathic fiesta.] ------------------------------------------------------------------------ "Enigma" Takezo Musashi ------------------------------------------------------------------------ [SCENE: Outside the Juan Lubriel Stadium, on the depilidated, seething Puerto Rican streets, a riotous mob spills out into the balmy night air. Storm clouds of hostile outpouring gather thick in the atmosphere: dark skinned youths hurling Spanish curses, weeping women hurrying their children to safety and shelter, and the angry mass of humanity stomping and flailing and charging down the bitchumen after one man: the engineer of their discontent; the reckless instigator of the mayhem in progress; the ruthless and efficient destroyer of their national hero without a shred of remorse... The man known as the "Enigma" Takezo Musashi. A dozen orange shirted security men, their faces stained with the sweat and anxiety of a situation completely out of control, struggle to herd Musashi into a waiting car and into an avenue of safety. But the Enigma... it would appear that his desire for danger and chaos has not yet been satisfied enough, and he openly courts the vitriol of the wrathful mob; yelling at them to bring it on, slashing his hand across his throat in defiance and threat, even lashing out at the security guards surrounding him. The situation unfolds in only a few heartbeats, as the rioters crash into the security team like a tidal wave of humanity, body clashing against body in a frenzied explosion of hostility. And the security guards, outnumbered as they are, can hold them back for only a few moments. Abruptly, the opening is there, and Takezo Musashi stands waiting for the onslaught, suddenly vulnerable to the mob desperately surging towards him. But... in shock, the tidal wave breaks into disarry. With sudden timing, a fresh squadron of security guards has charged from the bowels of the Stadium and into the flanks, riot gear in place, night sticks drawn, and little reluctance in weilding them. As the mob is thrown into dissary for that crucial second, Musashi is seen to grin; a grin that carries with it more than a hint of menace... and madness. Finally, he turns and and slips through the door of the waiting vehicle, unscratched by the fanatic fans baying for his blood. The camera pans out high on the scene of chaos as the car speeds off into the distance, but perhaps far more telling than the brutal nightstick on mob violence unfolding below, is the lingering memory of the burning intensity in the Enigma's gaze, and the last thing he screamed out into the night air before making his escape: "The dance in chaos has only just begun!"] ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Down Boys ------------------------------------------------------------------------ [Awesome T sits on a table with a smile across his face. Flanking him, as usual, are Adam Peterson and Dan Oliver, better known as the Down Boys. T looks down at his hands, which have dried blood on them. His Jay Buhner autograph model baseball bat also has dried blood on it, mostly around the handle. T still wears his black "Role Model." t-shirt, which the DB's also wear at this time. T looks up to the camera, with that trademark smirk on his face, and runs his blood-stained fingers through his hair] AT: You know, it's been a long time since I've actually had blood on my hands. It's never been something I've enjoyed...I'm not one of those "hardcore" type of guys. In the dojo, we dealt with blood all the time, but that was a long time ago. So I guess a few people, those six or seven people who follow the tag team scene here in the double-eye, are wondering why we did what we did. Hell, the smarks know...they've been calling for it for months now. But we got a few of them coming up to us concerned, so let me address a few points. First, the Down Boys are a tag team just like any other tag team, in the fact that they strive after the IIWF World Tag Team Belts just like any other tag team. Danny and Adam have worked their asses off. They've won titles in Japan and the US, but they wanted to win the big prize...the IIWF World Tag Team Championship. So what have the Down Boys done since arriving in the IIWF? They've defeated the Machines enough times they resorted to desperate measures, breaking up, getting back together...no one cares. They beat the High Plains Drifters, former IIWF World Tag Team Champions. They beat the Harlequins, one of the best tag teams in the history of the IIWF. They beat the Fabulous Ones on FOUR separate occasions. They had the Prophets of Rage, possibly the best tag team in the world today, in the middle of the ring. And who can forget what they did to Damage In...er...The Lost Boyz. They embarrassed them so bad, calling them out SO many times, without response, the Boyz did the only thing they could do...they went into hiding. Long gone, ducking eventual defeat at the hands of the Unskinny Bop. [T leans back, satisfied, when Dan Oliver taps him on the shoulder and whispers something in his ear. Upon hearing, T playfully slaps his own cheek in mock surprise] Oh yes! Danny here reminded me of one more important thing. They beat...the Natural Predators. [T, Dan, and Adam smack their foreheads with their palms mockingly, knocking themselves over. T and the DB's get back up again, and T continues to vent to the camera] I know...shocking as it may seem, the DB's did. But that's ok. As we were doing this, the Predators, who were brought in at the same time, did...stuff. But for some reason, the powers that be believed that they deserved a title shot...OUR title shot. I mean, let's be honest. Who deserved a title shot against the Lost Boyz...the Down Boys, or the Natural Predators? Exactly. But the booking committee didn't see it that way...screw what the Down Boys did. Screw the fact that it was the most entertaining thing done in the IIWF Tag Division in years. Hell, screw the entire tag division...we'll put the tag title shot up for grabs in a battle royal. It'll be fun. [T and the DB's mockingly laugh] So, anyway, since we've gotten here, we looked better than any tag team in the IIWF, but we've gotten 1/2 of a title shot. And, after the Preds win the belts, they keep saying how good we are, buttering up Danny and Adam, but do they give them a title shot? Nah. While the Down Boys are wrestling the Harlequins and the Prophets of Rage, the Predators are defending their titles against the Fabulous Ones...a team we, if I didn't mention before, have defeated now FOUR times. Can you blame us for doing what we did? We're really sorry it had to come to this, Preds, but this seemed to be the only way to get your attention...and look what happens after we do it. We've got our title shot on Saturday. Perfect. Dig the belts out of the recycle bin, Preds. We're here to save the fed. [Fade.] ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Natural Predators ------------------------------------------------------------------------ [Scene comes up on a hospital waiting room. Kuyler Greyson, a little worse for wear, has his arm in a sling, and Bear, covered in bruises.] B: Son of a bitch. KG: Easy, Daniel... B: They betrayed us....we offered to help those [bleep]-ing retro punks and they betrayed us. KG: You see why I say the fans need someone to look up to? Why I tell you to keep your focus in the ring? Look, what happened, happened. The belts have been cleaned off, and Michael is getting medical attention. B: But this shouldn't have happened... KG: Look, Daniel...here's the thing. No matter how pure and heroic someone says they are...like Awesome T and the Down Syndrome...if youdon't put forth the effort, then what purpose do you have? B: We got the win, though. That means something. KG: Yeah. Predators and Peterson by DQ over Bobcat Goldthwaite and the Poster children. Look, I spoke with President Spreadbury and we have a match against the Down Boys this week in Nagano. B: Understand what Icehawk and Fitz were saying though...you play it fair, you play it by the rules, and you get betrayed by everyone who wants a piece of what you earned. KG: Look at the Predators, though, Daniel. You earned the belts by pinning the Lost Boyz and the Down Boys in that ring. In one of the toughest matches of your careers. B: So what does this mean? KG: Well....Horsemen have to come together, Daniel. Four elements, four corners, four legends, or legends in the making. B: The Dragons? KG: Well, President Spreadbury makes the ruling. I would be willing to sign the match for next week. B: Is there anyone we can really trust out there? KG: [sighs] You're still new to this sport, Daniel...and backstabs are as common these days as ring jumps. You can trust only yourself in there. B: And you. And Michael. KG: Yeah. And you can trust that the Down Boys are going to be singing a new song soon. [Bear cracks his knuckles] B: Welcome to teh nineties, Down Boys...Saturday Night, you two are going to go "Down Together" [a sound of hospital doors opening is heard as Michael Wolcott, aka Grey Phoenix, walks in shot. He is wearing a loose white t-shirt, his back still dark from the attacks of the Baseball bat] GP: Well, partners....I think it's time for a little justice. Horsemen style. [He turns to the camera] Awesome T, I actually admired you for what you did for the Down Boys...I mean, other than rejects from Flock of Seagulls and Menudo, what future could they have had without you? Now, thanks to this little stunt, they are going to have to face the fury of the Natural Selection...it's time to show them why the Double I is where the wild things RULE! [Kuyler smiles] KG: Good. Now come on, champs. We've got work to do. [Fade to black.] ------------------------------------------------------------------------ "The Demon" Damien Lestat ------------------------------------------------------------------------ [Camera up to the colourful IIWF curtains in the infamous "Interview Area" moments after the Six-Man Tag Match... "The Demon" Damien Lestat, with Mr. Coolie in hand, walks into view. His cavity-filled smile greets the camera and he brushes the greasy sweaty hair from his face] DL: [in his gravely voice] Awwwwwwwwwwww f!! Now __that__ was fun!! [With an internal noise, Lestat generates a mucussy gob of spit and spews it on the floor and his scraggily beard; all the while scratching his crotch with his free hand] DL: [Speaking to Mr. Coolie] Did you enjoy yourself, Mr. Coolie? [Lestat makes the red-and-white cooler nod "yes" causing Lestat to smile broadly. Lestat then hugs Mr. Coolie tight...] DL: I love you Mr. Coolie! You're the best! [Lestat starts to slow-dance with Mr. Coolie...] DL: [While caressing Mr. Coolie] And I know you love me too! [After a slow twirl with his "friend", Lestat stops with his back towards the camera; raises Mr. Coolie above his head and...] "HHOOOOOOWWWWWWWWWWWWWWLLLLL!!!!!!!!!" [...he "howls" for no reason. He lowers Mr. Coolie; cackles; spits; farts; cackles again and walks out of the interview area. A moment later, the IIWF cleaning crew quickly disinfect the area. Fade.] ------------------------------------------------------------------------ "The Savior" Simon Lebec ------------------------------------------------------------------------ [Camera opens with "The Savior" Simon Lebec, sitting in a chair, listening to the radio as The Cure's "Friday, I'm in Love" plays in the background. Lebec turns up the radio to listen to his new favorite verse] "Monday you can hold your head Tuesday Wednesday stay in bed Or Thursday watch the walls instead It's Friday I'm in love" [Lebec smiles as he turns the radio down and lights a cigarette before looking into the camera] SL: Fitting, ain't it? 'Cause last Friday, I fell in love. Fell in love wit the sound o' Macbeth's brains gettin' mashed up. So Duncan, ya can hold yer head. Think 'bout me every time ya reach fer that Tylenol. Think 'bout me every time ya ferget what yer name is. [The song ends as another begins. The Spice Girl's "Wannabe" begins] "Yo, I'll tell you what I want, what I really really want, So tell me what you want, what you really really want, I'll tell you what I want, what I really really want, So tell me what you want, what you really really want, I wanna, I wanna, I wanna, I wanna, I wanna really really really wanna zigazig ha" [Lebec drops his smoke and looks at the radio in disgust] What th' heck was that? Don't much care fer them whorin' tramps. [Lebec turns off the radio.] So Duncan, since yer not feelin' th' best these days, ya decided ta send Tiny Tim ta do yer dirty work. That ain't no problem. I still got me three table legs left. [Camera fades as Lebec grins to the camera] ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Deathbringer ------------------------------------------------------------------------ [SCENE: The IIWF interview area. Deathbringer is standing in front of the camera, wearing his wrestling attire and his new blood stained goalie mask. He starts to talk in his low, growling voice] DB: Well, well, well... So my match against Tragedy turned out to be a handicap match. And that was just what I had expected before I even went to the ring. Let me tell you something, Harlequins... I do not care about how many of you come down to ringside as I am wrestling there, I do not even care about what kind of weapons you take with you. What I _DO_ care about, however, is just _WHOM_ I am facing in that squared circle. I originally signed a match against you, Tragedy, and as it turned out, you are just one more of these despicable mortal cowards, who are afraid of stepping into the ring with the Dark Destroyer. Now listen closely, Tragedy... I never asked you to step into my path, I never asked you to steal my mask. But you did... And now, my little Harlequin friend, you are in serious trouble. I want that mask back... and I _WILL_ get it back. You know, there is a war going on in the IIWF right now, a war between you and Death himself. Now war always claims a lot of casualties... and if you continue to follow that narrow path you are walking on right now, you will be one of them, and that is a promise. It is your own decision, Tragedy, give me my mask back or let me come and get it. In both cases I will get back what belongs to me... But in only one of these cases you will survive... Tragedy, from now on, I will be the shadow that follows you, wherever you might go... From now on, I will be the beast the lurks underneath your bed as you go to sleep... And from now on... You should prepare to meet your maker! [Fade.] ------------------------------------------------------------------------ "Rocket Man" Timothy N. Turner ------------------------------------------------------------------------ [The camera crew catches Timothy Turner as he is climbing into the back of an ambulance, presumably one carrying Duncan Macbeth.] TNT: You want a comment? I'll give you a comment. Lebec? You are going to hurt more than you've ever hurted before. [He shuts the door behind him and the ambulance pulls away from the arena. Fade.] ------------------------------------------------------------------------ The Machines ------------------------------------------------------------------------ [Paul Wong and Simon O'Neal stand in front of the IIWF interview area. Both men are wearing their grey fedoras and sunglasses again.] PW: The best tag team is finally back together again.  Although, I have to admit that I wasn't too happy about being attacked during the Sychosys vs. Macbeth and Turner match. SO: I know.  We were just out there to watch the match.  We weren't planning on doing anything.  Really.  You can trust us.  [With a serious poker face] PW: Of course you can.  [Paul's ready to burst out laughing] SO: It was mainly a case of too much, too soon.  We already showed up once this evening.  PW: That's right.  We even picked up a souvenior. [He reaches down, and picks up Binky the Chainsaw] PW: And it's a beauty. SO: Great.  I have some firewood I could use this on.  Do you know if it's still under warranty? PW: We want to thank the Harlequins... Comedy & Tragedy SO: ...Chaos & Melody... PW: ...Dopey & Sneezy... SO: ...Ringo & Paul... PW: ...Washington & Lincoln... SO: And, most of all, Terror for this lovely gift.  I feel ashamed that we couldn't give you anything in return.  We'll treat Binky like we'd treat each and every one of you. [Fade.] ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Steve Manning ------------------------------------------------------------------------ [SCENE: Backstage at IIWF Saturday Night, moments after Steve Manning has been eliminated from the special Over The Top Death Match. Manning swaggers calmly into the scene, smoking a cigarette, a pleasant smile on his face, to the surprise of a few backstage workers in the background. Manning takes a long draw on his cigarette, and lets the smoke float slowly out of his nostrils. He takes a deep breath, and sighs, smiling.] SM: I haven't had a Saturday Night this fun since Becky LaRue's birthday bash. Blood, double-crossing, 3 on 1, broken tables, foreign objects.... yep, that night at Becky's had it all. But don't get me wrong, this match was awesome too! [Manning takes another draw, as his face goes serious.] SM: Shadoe Rage books the matches. Shadoe Rage booked _that_ match. All I can say is... I LOVE YOU BOOKERMAN! [Manning's eyes go wide as he starts laughing as if he had just heard the funniest joke of all time. Manning walks away from the camera looking up, laughing and muttering to himself, "Bookerman... bookerman..." over and over. Fade.] ------------------------------------------------------------------------ American Dragons ------------------------------------------------------------------------ [A shot backstage right after the end of the Fabulous Ones/Damien Lestat vs. Adam Peterson/Natural Predators match. The overworked security staff is holding back Joe Scalercio and Bob Ivey, having just escorted them and the Fabulous Ones from ringside. Ivey and Scalercio are yelling their lungs out at someone off camera... presumably the Fabulous Ones] JS: I told you we'd get our revenge! But do you listen? Nope! BI: And before you two morons scream about interference, remember... it was your own damn partner who hit the ref! [Security struggles again, as they hold back a surge of two people from off screen. A slew of Japanese is heard] JS: You two want to settle this? Fine! BI: This Wednesday....in front of your own home crowd! JS: Chicken? I don't care if we got a match this Saturday...you want a piece of us, we'll give it to you! [A yell of "You're on!" is heard] BI: Oh, you two just made the biggest mistake this side of Pearl Harbor! JS: Any team, any time, boys! [Just then, the crowd is heard to turn STRONGLY heel! Bob and Joe turn and peek out the curtain that's right behind them...showing their dragon logos to the camera in the process. As both men see what is happening, they react...] JS and BI: OH, [BLEEP]! [The twosome is drowned out in a rush of security shirts as we fade out.] ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Charles Scheffield ------------------------------------------------------------------------ [The camera fades in on a short brown-haired man wearing a nice suit. It is Charles Scheffield, though many may not recognise him due to the fact he has not shown up on television much since his hair style change. From flowing, blond hair to relatively short brown hair is quite a change. Many still expecting the "Hunter-esque" appearance from Scheffield find the new look to be a disappointment due to the fact that many people liked to think of him as a nice version of triple H... but that just isn't Scheffield's personality. In fact, at this moment, he doesn't seem to be very happy at all.] CS: It is truly amazing... After the greatest two weeks in my entire wrestling career... it abruptly ends. The phone calls... the praise... the glory. All because of Steve Manning. [Scheffield seems to be quite upset now.] Once again... I had to feel the cold steel of reality. The relentless nothingness which everyone refers to as the real world... that nothingness being the fact that no one remembers a man in his time of need. When I was hauled away to the hospital I mistakenly believed that I would hear some words of comfort from my so-called friends. I reviewed a recording of Saturday Night... they never updated the viewing audience on my condition. I could have been dead... and no one ever would have known. Then after a few days... I realised it was because no one cared. Why would the IIWF spend the time to speak about an unprofitable man? I never received a single card from anyone related to the IIWF... not one. In fact, the first words of any kind regarding the incident I heard anywhere were from Steve Manning himself! I expected something said on "Inside the IIWF"... but even they turned a completely deaf ear on the entire situation... [The expression on Scheffield's face becomes unreadable.] This really comes as no surprise to me... but it was a reminder of what happens when someone goes against the grain. I remember when I added the simple letter "c" to my family's name of "Sheffield", the same thing happened. I was disowned even after showing that I could be successful after graduating college magna cum laudea. Here, a simple thing as cutting my hair and reverting it to it's natural colour is looked upon as blasphemy of the holy scriptures! I no longer fit into the mould... therefore I am looked upon as expendable. [The intensity begins to build in his expression and his voice.] No matter... I shall not quit. I also shall not turn my back on my fans. Several of my fans did bother to take the time to wish me a speedy recovery. Granted, it really wasn't an extravagant quantity, but I was reminded just how much the fans are involved in my career. I was reminded that there are people out there worth fighting for. Steve Manning, this Wednesday... there will be no holding me back. Since I showed everyone that the likes of Serge Annis and Deathbringer are the kind of people I can defeat... you should realise that no matter what your background is... nor how impressive you have proven yourself to be shall be a match for a man who is fighting for his dignity. Manning... even though you are scum... I do have a professional respect for you. I shall show you, however, that "Wrestle Clean" is more than just a slogan. It is the key to success. Carry on. [Fade.] ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Serge Annis ------------------------------------------------------------------------ [The IIWF logo backdrop fades in, with Serge Annis standing before it. Annis has his hands on his hips.] SA: Well, what can I say? Edmund Fitzgerald, I hope you've realised the order of things now. There is only one success left from Genesis, and you're looking at him. Frankly Fitzy, I'm disappointed with you. I'm not bleeding. That's how you tell about how good a match you wrestled, by the amount of blood you spill out. But the end result stays firm, and that's that. Mad Dog Watkins, I bet you think burning my face was a nice form of retaliation. Well, fact is it only sealed your fate. Soon... I shall get my hands on you, and when I do... heh heh... it's going to make the steel cage look like a mild act of mid-card violence... heh heh... [Fade to black.] ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Nick "the Schooner" McGill ------------------------------------------------------------------------ [The camera fades in on an unseen man. He is about 5'10, and around 220 pounds. The man wears no shirt, and a pair of blue jeans. He appears in front of the Monday Musing backdrop. He has blue eyes, and short brown hair. The man looks fairly young, and strangely familiar. The man speaks with a Maritime accent.] NM: Hello IIWF. My name's Nick "The Schooner" McGill. I'm from Lunenburg, Nova Scotia. I'm sure that many people wouldn't be sure just where ol' Lunenburg is. Lunenburg is home of the mighty Bluenose. The fastest schooner ship there ever was. Lunenburg is famous for making big, fast schooners. That's why Old Man Parsons gave me my nickname of 'The Schooner". He's the one that trained me. Two years ago, I stepped into a wrestling for the first time. I'm only 23 and I have yet to make a mark on the wrestling world. I tried to make a mark in UWF, but that ain't go nowhere. And now, I step out into the biggest league there is... the IIWF. I was here once before, to help out a friend Luke Steele with a match. But I was on crutches then... [Nick runs a hand through his hair and sighes.] NM: I don't know if I'm ready for this... but we'll see on Wednesday. Thanks for the time. [Nick flashes a warm smile to the camera before it fades to black.] ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Gunnar "Grizzly" Gaines ------------------------------------------------------------------------ [SCENE: IIWF backdrop. GUNNAR "GRIZZLY" GAINES is standing with his back to the camera.] GGG: When you go hunting for the Grizz, son, there's two things you've gotta learn. One, set your trap on "kill." And two, if at first you don't succeed, run like hell. [A chuckle is heard. Gunnar turns around. He's wearing sunglasses and and has a bib tied on over his shirt. It reads, "The Grizzly Gourmet."] GGG: Jimmy Steele... you didn't succeed, and you didn't run like hell. That tells me you'd like to become road fodder for The Baddest Thang Running. Don't believe it will happen? Here, let me give you something to think about. I knocked your ass OUT with my own bare hands two weeks ago. But on Saturday, you could barely knock me _down_ with your steel, no pun intended, trap. Close, son... but no banana. But since I'm a nice guy, "Meatman," I'll give you another shot. Let's see what you can do in a pre-arranged match where I know you're going to be there, and you know I'm going to be there. March 7, Sydney, Australia. [He grins, scratching his chin.] We'll go at it at the Opera House, son. Now they've heard all kinds of wailing and moaning and caterwauling... but they've NEVER heard a scream like they're going to hear from you after I toss around _your_ lifeless carcass. And you can bring your little meat wagon if you want, but I'm fixing to show you a meat wagon of my own that night. [snickering] It's called an ambulance, son, and you're gonna be REAL familiar with the inside of it before the night is through. [Grizzly Grin] Don't like it, Jimmy Dean? Well there's one thing you've gotta do, and no one in the Double Eye has done it so far. [thumb to himself] BEAT ME... IF YOU CAN! [Fade.] ------------------------------------------------------------------------ "The Intrepid" Ryan Howard ------------------------------------------------------------------------ [Open to the IIWF interview area, empty, at least for the moment.] VO: [quietly] ..jeesh, where is he? I just know my ass will be the one canned for this.. [Suddenly the door swings open, and with a side-stepping dance, "Intrepid" Ryan Howard glides in, wearing a large smile and some damn nifty Gucci shades.] # I think I'm cute! You know I'm sexy! I've got the look, That drives the girls wild! # [With an everlasting grin, he shivers, shrugging the stylish beige Perry Ellis sportcoat off, tossing it onto a nearby chair. The music soon cuts, and he removes the shades, hanging them in the lone pocket over his left breast.] RH: I'll bet yer all wondering why "Intrepid" Ryan Howard didn't do squat this past Saturday? Well, opposed to what the, let's call them "big wigs", tell you, I had a minor case of strep throat. But don't get me wrong, I still would have wrestled, but the doctors forced me not to, for fear of, ahem, "infecting the other athletes." [He chuckles, shaking his head.] RH: You've gotta be kidding me, right? With a paedaphile like Turner, a sheep buggerer like Macbeth, and a gimp like Mota running around, and they're worried about me infecting the ranks? Sheesh. I got three items for you Spreadbury, and they apply to those three guys. Herpes symplex II. Mad-Sheep Disease. And sloppy [bleep]. [He shrugs yet again, a more serious look coming over his face.] RH: But I ain't complaining. Why? Look at my schedule. Not only to I finally get my hands on that slimy Gecko, who I just love kicking the shit out of, but I finally get into the ring with Turner. Turner, if you want to win, you're going to need a lot of things to size up against this talent. Bring your paper and your pencils for taking notes, your scissors to cut me loose from your throat, and a whole hell of a lot of glue, to keep me down. Because Turner.. [He chuckles, glancing down once, and then back up, his eyes dancing.] RH: This ol' boy is takin' you to school. [Fade] ------------------------------------------------------------------------ "To Excess" Rick Williams ------------------------------------------------------------------------ [Scene opens to the IIWF interview area following Saturday Night. The still somewhat surprised, but smiling figure of "To Excess" Rick Williams waits to speak. Still in his ring attire, and appearing to be in the most relaxed of moods, Williams pushes his hair from his face before he begins to speak.] RW: Well, ain't life just a whole bunch of surprises? One minute, you think Warnett's a coward because he won't face "To Excess"... The next, you think he's a coward because he needs to hide behind a mask and his buddy's identity to fight me. Yeah, I'll give you credit, Marty -- You sure keep us guessing. [Williams smirks as he again pushes his hair from his face.] And what about you, Bill? Still not recovered? Never will be? Never mind, _Spotlight_... Good ol' Marty's doing a hell of a job replacing you. In fact, he reminds me so much of you, that it's a distinct possibility that he'll end up in the same hospital as you, suffering the same injuries, drooling at the sight of the same nurses, and reflecting upon the same "good times" when the IIWF was a haven for criminally washed-up. Although, I realise that Marty finds this hard to believe. Well Marty, keep believing I'll fade into obscurity like Reed and his predecessors... keep believing I'm gonna go away. It'll make it a whole lot more fun. [Fade] ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Eddy "Flap" Jacks ------------------------------------------------------------------------ [Eddy Jacks pushes his way into the IIWF interviewing area, a look of rage on his broad face. Attired in little more than an "IIWF" t-shirt and spandex shorts, the mammoth figure cuts a strikingly humorous figure as he grabs a nearby microphone.] EJ: What_the_hell_is_this? Ain't it grand be disrespected wit' abandon? Don't this league got a god_damn inkling 'bout what I've done? [Jacks pauses to wipe freshly-beaded sweet off his beet-red brow.] Don't nobody understand? I'm here fer respect an' I'm sure as hell gettin' disrespected. Where's my hype? Where's my red carpet? Ain't nothin' that never happened before. Ain't like I've never had ta start from scratch. An' it ain't like I'm beggin' ta be called "the franchise." I been sayin' since I got here that I'm gonna be underestimated... that I'm gotten be pushed ta the side in favor o' prettier guys... in favor o' more famous guys. Hell, just yesterday since punk on the street pulls me aside an' says, "Ain't ya that Tonnage guy? Didn't ya used ta wrestle in the Double-Eye?". [Jacks runs his hands over his bald pate thoughtfully.] Like I said... ya don't got ta be a hero ta notch a victory. Ya don't hafta be a superstar ta be a champion. An' there ain't no reason why Steve Roberts an' Tim Dross shouldn't be heraldin' my arrival in this backwater fed as the best thing since sliced bread.... [Jacks throws the microphone onto the ground and storms away.] [Shouting] When I'm done, all ya IIWF studs're gonna get a glimpse o' a true legend....as I power bomb yer asses into the canvas -- one_by_frickin'_one. [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 -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=+