C + O + U + N + T + D + O + W + N T + O ________ ______ __ ____ ___ __ . _ ___ | || |\ \ /\ / /| __| / /\ | | || \| \ /\ \ / |\ || / \| | | | || | \ v v / | __| \__ /__\ | | ||__/| |/__\ v | \||| __|-| | |_||_| \_/\_/ |_| \ \| v | \|__/ \| | || \_|| | | __________________________/..............\........|...|.......|....| with Larry Morton 13 March 1998 [The shot opens on the usual Countdown set, and as usual, Larry Morton is alone. This week, he looks a little annoyed by the whole thing.] LM: Well, here we are again. The show starts, and I don't have a co-host. On Wednesday nights, I have more co-hosts than I know what to do with, and on Fridays, I never have any. Is there any real reason we can't find a happy medium here? I don't think we can get Tim Turner to pop out of the woodwork to save the day this time. Oh well, while you watch the Wednesday War Room Rewind, I'll try to find out what is going on this time. I just hope we're not stuck with Rusty again. Producer or not, that guy is just plain boring. Speaking of producers, however, before we go to Rewind I would like to pass on congratulations from the entire crew here at Countdown to the entire production staff over on Inside the IIWF. They have just completed an excellent year and are moving on to new challenges. The producer here has been cackling out loud at the opportunity to become the top wrestling commentary show because he knew there was no chance while the current team was dominating the field. Good job! ________ ______ | || |\ \ /\ / /| __|.................................................. | || | \ v v / | __| REWIND: IIWF Wednesday War Room - 11 March 1998 |_||_| \_/\_/ |_|.................................................... Josef "the Cavalier" Taduescz def. El Super Gecko "Sanguinary" Steve Manning def. "Nifty" Ned Norton The Rotundos def. the American Dragons by DQ Jimmy "the Meatman" Steele def. Bobby B. Goode "To Excess" Rick Williams def. Ike Sampson Eddy "Flap" Jacks def. "The Demon" Damien Lestat Richard "Moxy" Blue def. Marty Warnett "Intrepid" Ryan Howard vs. Christopher Stonebreaker was a NO CONTEST [The camera returns to Larry, who is still sitting alone. He opens his mouth to say something, but is cut off the ear-splitting wail of what sounds like an ambulance siren. After a few painful moments, the siren cuts out, and a commotion is heard off-stage. As Larry looks more and more confused, an EMT squad suddenly rushes onto the set, pushing a gurney. As the camera zooms in, it becomes obvious that Icehawk is the person on the gurney, and that he is strapped onto a backboard. The EMTs leave the gurney parked next to Larry's chair and rush off.] LM: Oh my god! Icehawk, are you okay? What happened? IH: [very weakly] It was the Enigma ... he had a bat ... in the parkin ... park ... [Icehawk's eyes close, and he lies still. Larry is now totally panicked.] LM: Oh no! Where did those EMTs go? Why did they leave him here? This man could be dying! [While Larry runs around in a frenzy, the director cuts to a closeup of Icehawk's face just as he loses control and bursts into laughter. In one motion, he shrugs off the fake straps, hops off the gurney and flops into the chair across from Larry's. As Morton gapes at him, he grins and speaks.] IH: So what's the next bit on our show, Larry? LM: [dumb staring] IH: C'mon, stay with me. The show is starting to lag. You look like you just saw Chuck Norris or something. LM: What's going on? I thought the Enigma attacked you again! IH: Nah, I just figured that since every exit I've made lately has been like that, I might as well do one for an entrance too. LM: Oh. Well, you shouldn't scare me like that! IH: [grinning] You need more excitement in your life, buddy. LM: Anyway, now that we have that out of the way, I'd like to ask you about next week's title match. IH: No comment. LM: No comment? IH: Yep. President Danny made me promise not to talk about Mushasi until tomorrow night. LM: That figures. I never get the big interviews. So what would you like to talk about? IH: The matches? LM: I guess so. War Room was full of great ones. IH: It was? LM: The Rotundos picked up a well-deserved victory and... I can't believe you did that! After what happened to Duncan Macbeth I'm half expecting someone to attack all of my guests! IH: Come on Larry! Let's get on with the matches! ________ ______ | || |\ \ /\ / /| __|.................................................. | || | \ v v / | __| PREVIEW: IIWF Saturday Night - 14 March 1998 |_||_| \_/\_/ |_|.................................................... LM: With only one week left until Ring Wars 5, things are really heating up! All of the singles champions are in action and we will see some intriguing pairings which will really pump up the excitement! ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Steve "the Fury" Kowalski & Mad Dog Watkins vs. "Savage" Shadoe Rage & "The Epitome of Evil" Serge Annis ------------------------------------------------------------------------ LM: This match features the World Champion, his challenger at Ring Wars 5, and the participants in the IIWF's most violent and unpredictable feud! IH: This match is going to be a massacre. LM: It is? IH: Yep. Keep in mind that I have wrestled against three of these guys, and wrestled with the fourth. And no matter how much the suits want to push Serge Annis and Shadoe Rage down our throats, the fact of the matter is that neither of them is even in the same class with Steve Kowalski. One of them is a Genesis reject, and the other one is only a singles wrestler because he got sick of Cold Spell kicking his butt all the time. Mad Dog's a tough guy, but the Fury could win this one by himself. LM; We're going to see a war tomorrow night, no doubt about it! Let's hear from most of the participants in this big match! [With his massive back to the screen, a small spark that was a match is tossed over his shoulder. The New Jersey Nightmare nods his head, as we read the new "IIWF Ring Wars 5: the Rage and the Fury" T-shirt. Just as you were all hoping, he speaks:] SK: When there’s a fire, do ya add gasoline!?! When the school bully picks on ya, do ya hold yer lunch money!?! When in a minefield, do ya feel an urge fer a tap dance!?! When the meanest bastard this side of the Mason Dixon line swings, do ya stick out yer chin for ’em?! So when VP Gregg Ouster-whatever the [BLEEP] his name is calls fer a "Wrassle Clean" fed, does he even try to use the common sense God gave a slug!?! I don’t think so. I think Greggy just sold _out_! [The puff of Kowalski’s cigar is barely audible. Slowly turning around, a sideways smirk on his face. The short exhale clouds the screen momentarily with the smoke of the Fury’s half chomped stogie.] And, junior...I like it! More lambs fer the slaughter an’ more meat fer me. I’d knew ya’d come ‘round. After a couple o’ weeks promotin’ nice nice, the kid gloves’re off. Ring Wars 5’s match line-up reads like the St. Valentine’s Day Massacre! Good job, ya crazy bastard, keep it up. [Spitting the nubbed stogie out...] Now then...Saturday Night! Saturday night. Let’s see...we got me. We got Anus. Whipped his ass. We got Watkins. Toronto was his Alamo. An’ we got Shadoe. A gift from the gods gave his ass a shot, but he still hasn’t walked that cold hard mile. Me, I’m stuck with a guy who jus’ missed the chance to be the _man_ in the Double Eye. I gotta team with him. ‘Gainst ‘nother punk who couldn’t get it done. Yeah, Anus, talkin’ ’bout ya. An’ his partner...this guy...oh brother...am I ever gonna bitch slap ya! [Kowalski’s hand reaches out and cover the lens, blanketing the screen in darkness.] Gonna tear ya apart... Bruise ya on the outside... Break ya on the inside... So let’s make it simple fer the non-believers an’ the blind Prophets... Anus, yer run’s over. Ya hit a wall an’ that wall was me. Ya had ‘nuff tries to learn an’ scale it, but yer to [BLEEP]in’ think to figure it out! So get in my way...I triple dog dare ya! Watkins, respect’ll only get ya so far in life. Ya know all the times we had drinks with each other, broke bread with each other an’ broke chairs over each other noggins don’t mean spit when we get into the squared ‘C’. Slow me down, trip me up or look at me sideways’ll get ya hurt. I’ll knock that third vertebrae outta yer neck, if ya get outta line. Like I said, respect only goes so far. [Kowalski’s hand moves from the lens. The champ, no where in sight, continues to speak. The only visual is the IIWF Heavyweight Championship belt on the floor next to the smoldering stogie.] Rage...take a look at it. Take a good long look at it. Fer all the marbles, all the glory. Glory makes fame, but men make glory. An’ until yer man ‘nuff to take me out... Make yer speeches... Talk yer trash... Make the bold statements... ‘Cause when its all said an’ done...I’ll still be on top! Saturday night, come get a taste o’ Hate! [Fade.] [Fade in: The scene crackles in grainy black and white. Shadoe Rage runs through the streets with Marissa Monet at his side, looking at the sights and sounds of the streets, all the people. Shadoe stops, wiping the sweat from his brow. He wears spandex shorts and a loose tank top. He shakes free his loose, wavy hair. Marissa glides in next to him, brushing the hair from her face, wiping herself with a wad of tissue she has pulled from inside the pocket of her sprinting jacket.] SR: Steve Kowalski, it's time to Rumble in the Jungle. Yeah, in the Congo we're going to preview Ring Wars V. No, I don't think so. Because see, one-on-one you know you don't have the stamina, the will, the power to beat me. You don't. I know that. You know that. And it has you shaking in your boots. Doesn't it. It has you absolutely shaking in your boots. So you had to come at me with th double team. You had to throw Mad Dog Watkins in the mix. One on one no superstar in the IIWF can beat me. No one. Two-on-one. Marissa, can they get the job done? MM: I don't think so, but it's possible. They might just be able to if they double-team you long enough. SR: Yeah, one-on-one no one can beat me. Two on one there might be a possible problem. [Shadoe claps his hands together.] So I came up with a solution. Yeah, you better believe I sat down and thought long and hard about it. And Kowalski, if you want to come after me with Mad Dog Watkins, well, I'll come right back at you with Serge Annis. Yeah, you thought you had him handled one time before last week. You may have walked away with the belt. But this time "The Epitome of Evil" has nothing to lose. So it's the "Epitome of Evil" and "The Angel of Death" versus "The Fury" and the "Mad Dog." They shoot Mad Dogs, don't they? MM: Shoot, Shadoe! Shoot! SR: Yeah, I'm going to shoot. I'm going to shoot down all your hopes and dreams, Kowalski. We're in the mother land now. You may not have your title on the line. But your life and your health are always going to be there. You're done. You're through. The Congo, I promise you, is going to be the last time and the last place where you will ever be seen in one piece. After that, when they ask whatever happened to the 'Fury' just let them know ... the Shadoe ... he killed you! MM: Fade to black. SR: And you will _Die_ _In_ _Darkness_, Fury. The Congo is going to be your burial ground. Right here, you will find the Heart of Darkness, Fury! [Extreme close up on Shadoe's eyes.] SR: The Horror ... the Horror! [fade out] [The camera fades in to see a shot of the 6'8", 290 pound menacing Serge Annis sitting atop the turnbuckle of an IIWF ring. The ring is set up in a small arena, which could barely hold two thousand people. However, there is no one sitting in the stands, and Serge Annis stands alone inside of the ring. Serge places his hand under his chin, assuming the traditional thinkers pose.] SA: On Saturday Night, the IIWF has paired me up with Shadoe Rage, a man who very well contributed to my loss to Steve Kowalski... and the World title... against two men I hate more than life itself, Steve Kowalski and Mad Dog Watkins. Such a match requires heavy training... and planning. But the IIWF World championship is not on the line, yet I shall have the opportunity to hurt the World champion. Hmm... Kowalski, you got out of our match last week with an incredibly big stroke of luck. Had Mad Dog Watkins not of saved you, you would have surely been mine for the kill. Don't think this loss has set me back though, Steve. It has only reminded me of why I am here in the IIWF, and just why I want the IIWF World Championship. [Serge steps down off of the turnbuckle, and leans against the ropes.] I want the championship, because people say I can't do it. I want the gold to silence the critics... to take my rightful spot among the greats in wrestling, and step out of the shadow Requiem has imposed upon me in the IIWF. And soon... everything shall fall together, like how the chess pieces sacrifice themselves for the sake of the kill. It is now my turn to strike out. [Annis gets down to his knees and begins doing series of push up's in the ring.] Mad Dog Watkins, I find it incredibly hard to get ahead here in the IIWF with you around. Whenever I am about to capture some form of glory, you are always there to take it away from me. It all started when you chose to interject yourself on my match against Thunder and Kowalski, after I had beaten Thunder... it was then that you sealed your fate as the enemy of the Epitome. I swore Hell's vengence upon you, and I surely delivered. And just last week you were there yet again. You claim that I am not good enough to be world champion? Then why are your lies coated with a fine taste of fear, Old Dog? Why do you choose to interject yourself on my matches? I know why... it is because you are afraid. Afraid that you are wrong, and that Serge Annis can, and shall, do what everyone else thinks cannot be done. Old Dog, Saturday is my chance to soften you up for Ring Wars. Test you. And mark me Mad Dog Watkins, I am prepared to kill. When I push your old body down off of the scaffold, and you fall down to the gates of Hell... you will realize your mistake. And after that I shall drag you down into the catacombs of Wembley, where you shall await trial from the Dark Lord. From there, it is out of my hands what Hell does with you Mad Dog. It is just my job to deliver you there. [Annis stops doing his push-ups and turns over and begins doing sit-ups now.] Shadoe Rage, you shall find that I am not exactly a team player. I don't want to team with you, therefore I shall not. Saturday Night, we play upon the rules that I set down, and it shall be no other way. I have everything all worked out in my head Rage. And if you blow it... well, it shall be one mistake you cannot afford to make. Leave me to my business, and yourself to your own business, and I believe we both shall do just fine for ourselves... heh heh. Cross my path, and I will have no troubles with snapping your neck just like everyone else. You can take away my fire... but you will never extinguish the flame that burns inside of me. And on Saturday Night that flame shall sweep over Steve Kowalski and Mad Dog Watkins... and they shall be burned. [Fade] ------------------------------------------------------------------------ "TEAM SYCHOSYS FUNKY LIKE A MONKEY WORLD TOUR '98" CONGO DEATH MATCH: Team Sychosys vs. Prophets of Rage ------------------------------------------------------------------------ LM: Joe Petrow continues his quest for dominance by facing one of the top tag teams of this era. IH: You know, Larry, this match is going to settle one of the great historical debates of our day. LM: The greatest tag team of the 1990s? IH: [scoffing] Hardly. Try the most overrated team in wrestling history. Let's look at the records - the Original Prophets won the belts, and defended them twice on PPV. Once, we had them beat and Violence Unlimited cost us the match, and the second time we beat them. So Shadoe goes running off to singles, and his brother brings in that drunk DDUA. Since then, what have they done? Nothing. And Team Sychosys is a joke. Joe Petrow has this bizarre hold on all the suits, and they are knocking each other over to kiss his butt. So he gets all these marquee matchups, even though he never actually wins a big match, and even though his partner couldn't beat The Smooth. LM: I think you could call beating Chris Quigley in a submission match to be a big victory and I think we all have to admit that Maurice is improving every day in the ring! Let's hear from both teams! [In the Congo, in the heart of the jungle, in a place where at least a million more interesting scenarios can be found..."Sychosys" Joe Petrow and "Mr. Majestyk" Maurice McArthur stand in an anonymous plain grey room. McArthur, looking good in a light-grey pinstripe suit, and Petrow, calm and casual in a green Hard Rock Cafe Yokohama Polo shirt and Dockers, address the camera in a poised, focused manner.] JP: No, no tricks this week, no fancy camera angles, no funny punchlines. Just business. Just the way you like it, Prostates of Rage. Just the opposite of what you've always accused us of being. Cause I got a funny feeling, that this is the last time we're gonna do this dance, so we're gonna do it right, and we're gonna do it your way. And I'm gonna settle the score with my old friend once and for all. Now, as far as my partner goes... 4M: Joe! [McArthur moves to forefront, holding an arm in front of Petrow] 4M: Joe, this is my time now. You told me sooner or later I gotta stand up for myself...well, now's the time. I got my own thoughts, and I got my own way of saying them. [The momentarily surprised Sychosys lets out a small smile, as an intense 4M takes the spotlight] JP: By all means... 4M: Simon O'Neal. I hope you got a good look at me last week. I hope everyone else out there got a good look too. The bottom line is that you guys won the match, and the guy I was watching did the deed, and I ain't gonna dispute that. But don't get the wrong idea Simon. You won that match because you were clever. You won because you exploited the rules, exploited a technicality. You won because you _ran away_ from me. But everyone saw Simon, that you did not dominate me. You won the match...but _not_ because you are better than me. It's time for everyone to stop being so damned surprised. It's time for people to look at me and realize, "Goddammit, there's a guy who's worked his ass off for over a year, under the best tutor in the world!" I'm changing the _rules_ around here. I'm the man who once strapped the Intercontinental Championship around his waist and genuinely thought he earned it. And while everyone's been focusing on "Crazy Joe" this and "Sycho Joe" that...I'm the guy who's put the word "Team" in "Team Sychosys" I'm _not_ the man who everyone ran over in 1996. I'm _not_ the man who Joe Petrow stuck in his corner as an excuse to wrestle handicap matches in 1997. And I'm sure as HELL not some goddamned piece of "intellectual property" to be manhandled how everybody pleases. I am Maurice McArthur. I am Mr. Majestyk. I am the IIWF's first ever home-grown superstar. And Prophets, there ain't been a day that's gone by, or a nightmare I haven't seen where I haven't been thinking of what you did to me at Snow Brawl. In the Congo Death Match..._I_ will personally see to it that you come to understand the hell you put me through for yourselves. [Sychosys, brimming with pride over his protege's outburst, takes over] JP: Machines, the only thing you proved was something we already knew. When everyone in the world gangs up on TS, there's a chance we might lose. But we have a week to prepare for that as well. This week is a Congo Death Match! _Everything_ goes! So everyone, everyone who has a beef with me, has a beef with us, C'MON ON DOWN! We'll take you all on! But before you do, realize who "we" are! "We", include _myself_, the Majestyk One, the _ENIGMA_...and the most militant group of Sychopaths in the world today! Rage, Allah, go ahead and _try_ to attack my fans this time! Cause they'll attack _back_! This, my friends, is not a wrestling match, not a fight. It's freaking guerrila warfare! But even so, unless you decide to defend your United States tag-team titles for the first time in eight months, the end result really doesn't mean a thing. All this means, is a chance to prepare for the most...awe-inspiring type of match ever devised in this sport. Natural Predators, Down Boys. I suggest you watch the tapes. Pull out Ring Wars III, and look real close. This ain't gonna be some hick-town waterhole beer-bottle brawl. This will be an experience that tries the very souls of men. There's only one way to describe it, and that's via self-reference: It is the Seven Tables of Fear. This week is the harvest. Next week is the feast. [A cold look of determination crosses the faces of both men. Fade out.] [Fade in: The jungles of the Congo. The camera penetrates into the thick brush, forcing its way through the brush until a savage springs out in front of the camera, face-painted, bone through his nose. Dirt Dog Unique Allah shakes his spear at the camera, jumping around barefoot and shouting. AWOOGA! AWOOGA! He settles down for a moment as Derek Rage comes through the trees like a beast, bursting through the foliage. He is dressed in a T-shirt and jeans. He crosses his arms across his massive chest, frowning.] DR: This [jerking his head at Allah] is probably what all you goons out here who have never seen Africa were expecting to see, wasn't it? Well, let me explain something to you. This is _our_ Motherland, the birthplace of _our_ Ancestors. And just like how Muhammed Ali came to Zaire and went all over the world to expose the ignorant, dirty masses to other cultures and races and educates them. Sorry Soundbite. You're looking at the Black Jesus this week. DDUA: And they call me the Messiah! Yo, you're in the home of the Gods on Earth, the Original Men and the muhfuhin' best tag-team in the world that muhfuhs is just ignorin'. Funky Like A Monkey Tour? We're closin' down your damn show. And if you think we're just gonna sit back and let things go you're wrong. Y'all done decided to leave us at home in the Ring Wars? Y'all done decided that we ain't got no place? Us? The best winning tag-team you got. Your last link to respectibility. Well, that's it muhfuhs. We comin' to show out. I promise you that. We comin' to show out! [DDUA wrenches the bone from his nose, tossing it away.] DDUA: Petrow, you ain't never been as creative as me. You ain't never been more clever. I made you exactly what you were muhfuh. And there ain't no way you're gonna bring some 4M into the ring with you and beat the IIWF's best tag-team. DR: But what you will learn is that the Prophets of Rage are the _best_ at any style. You had your way with the script one time before, getting a cheap little count-out win so the front office could promote you a little bit. But the fact is, you got a lame ass partner in Mr. Majestyk Maurice McArthur. The fact is, you aren't a tag-team wrestler. And the fact is you just run when somebody stands up to your challenge or worse turns the challenge around on you. You ran from the singles ranks when Shadoe Rage told you that he was going to spend February beating your ass. You threatened to no show. Hell, they found you crying naked in the shower in a little pink fetal ball. Petrow, what makes you think it'll be any better against the Prophets of Rage. The team that outworks you. The team that outclasses you. The team that is just out and out better than you. Strip away the gimmickry. Strip away the stipulation matches which is the only thing you can use to have a shot at winning and what do you have? Not a damn thing. I remember you saying I had no imagination. I remember that well. Well, trust me. I can imagine a million ways to humiliate you. And I'm going to exercise them all on you this Saturday, brotherman. You might as well start curling again. DDUA: See, you got two people that ain't willing to play in the little Petrow show. What the fuh did they call you? The fraud? Yeah, that fits you to a tee. See, everybody fusses in the lockerroom. They don't like the attention you hijack when you got some lame ass skills. Well, they right. You're pathetic. You're burned out. You can't stand up to a muhfuh. Hey, I been knowin' it since that Seven Tables of Fear match you recycled. I been remembering it well. Yo, who you gonna bring in now? The magical spirit of Bobo Brazil? I bet not. You should, though. Recognise the strength. The Gods is getting ripped. And we comin', swingin' swords and you're gonna get caught in the flow like two H's connected by one O. Yeah, you gotta get that one or I'm muhfuhin' disappointed in you. DR: You just remember all this come Saturday. We're not acting as part of your script. We're writing our own match, taking control of our own destiny and closing the Funky Like A Monkey tour with a thumb's down review. This show is closing Saturday, Petrow. And we're gonna burn down the Globe around your ears. DDUA: I said YEAAHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!! MUHFUH!!!!!! [Fade out.] ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Duncan Macbeth & "Rocket Man" Timothy N. Turner vs. "The Savior" Simon Lebec & Andrew Macbeth ------------------------------------------------------------------------ LM: There is a lot on the line in this match as the team of Duncan and Turner face the man who will challenge for the Intercontinental title and the man who has somehow turned the Rocket Man into a gibbering wreck! IH: Simon Lebec is a nutbar, and I don't know what Andrew Macbeth is doing in a tag-team match with him. But Andrew's right. Someone needs to wake up both TNT and Duncan. LM: Why? IH: Because they have lost their focus. Tim had the Cruiserweight belt, and Duncan's got the Intercontinental belt, and they should be the most dominant force in wrestling. Heck, they even had Fitz to help them out. But they tossed him aside, and now they are both wandering around like deer caught in a headlight. It's really kinda pathetic. LM: I would have thought that you would consider 4-D to be the most dominant force in wrestling. IH: 4-D? LM: You know, the team that used to be called the New Horsemen - the Predators, you and Fitz. IH: Larry? LM: Yes? IH: Let me say this very slowly, since no one seems to understand it. I. Am. Not. Part. Of. That. Group. LM: [winking] Oh, that's right. I forgot. IH: [sighs] I give up. LM: All four wrestlers...that's the ones in the match, not the ones in Icehawk's group...had things to say. [SCENE: A dingy, poorly-lit hotel room in the heart of downtown Kinshasa, Democratic Republic of Congo. The room has been decorated in every shade of brown imaginable, and a small air conditioner in the window rattles away, having little effect on the thick humidity in the suite. In a corner is a small television set with a VCR, and in a worn-looking beige easy chair in front of the TV sits the IIWF Intercontinental Champion, Duncan Macbeth. The Scot is clad in a white tank top and khaki shorts, a towel around his shoulders keeping his thick braid of ruddy hair off his neck as he wipes a trickle of sweat from his forehead, and he stares intently at the screen at a replay of last Tuesday's "Inside The IIWF". Macbeth glowers as Tim Dross and "Soundbite" Steve Roberts go over the results of last Saturday's card, and he sets his jaw as he listens to Dross' comments about his title defense against Luke Steele.] TD: Duncan Macbeth, who has not exactly been the fightingest Intercontinental Champion there ever was, defeated Luke Steele -- which kicked off a brawl between he and Simon Lebec -- not their first extracurricular confrontation over the past couple of months -- and that sets up the Intercontinental Title Match at Ring Wars, when these two men hook it up on a barge on the River Thames... [Macbeth angrily grabs the remote and tries to turn off the television, only the remote seems to have gone dead. The Scot leans forward to shut off the TV with its on/off button, but the button falls off in his hand. Gritting his teeth, Macbeth roughly yanks the power cord out of the wall, and the TV crackles noisily and goes dead.] DM: "No' exactly th' fighten'est Intercontinental Champion there e'er was"? Bollocks. [Macbeth turns to the camera, levelling his trademark green-eyed stare at the lens, and speaks with an unnervingly calm tone, as if something truly frightening were boiling just under the surface.] I have a few things t' say, an' I'll keep 'em as short as possible, as I've no time t' waste flappin' me jaws when I could be trainin' fer me match tomorrow nigh'. First, t' th' entire IIWF, an' Dross, ye'd best be listenin' t' this as well. When I first came t' th' IIWF a year ago, I was a nobody, an' I started at th' bottom o' th' ladder, jus' like everybody else. Tha' was fine wi' me -- I had won me share o' titles in other feds, an' defended each an' every one o' them wi' honour, but now I was in th' IIWF, th' biggest, toughest, most competitive, an' _best_ fed in th' business, an' jus' gettin' in on th' ground floor was guid enough fer me. An' when I got 'ere, I saw somethin' tha' I wanted -- the Intercontinental Title. I was a lang ways away from it at th' time, an' I saw th' path tha' I needed t' take t' get in t' position t' challenge fer tha' shiny belt. An' it was tough, t' be sure -- I had t' get past th' likes o' Laird Byron, Creed, Otto Verhoeven, Tiger Claw, Billy Shakespeare, Serge Annis, Derek Mota, J.W. Hardin, an' more -- an' one nigh' o' absolute hell where I faced down eighteen o' th' IIWF's finest in one match. An' slowly, but surely, I moved up th' rankin's until I was number one. An' I did it th' HARD way. By sluggin' it out wi' th' best in th' IIWF, nigh' after nigh'. There _are_ faster ways t' become th' number-one contender, o'course. Ask Simon Lebec, if yis want t' ken th' fine art o' queue-jumpin'. But tha's no' me style. Wha' I'm tryin' t' say, is tha' I bleedin' well EARNED th' Intercontinental Title. I paid fer it, in sweat an' blood. An' now tha' I have it, I'll defend it t' th' point o' me DEATH if necessary. But if all yis whinin' layabouts out there are jus' goin' t' sit by th' mailbox an' wait fer a written invitation on a bleedin' silver platter from me, yis'll be waitin' a lang, lang time, wha'. I got th' Intercontinental Title 'cause I _actively pursued_ it fer th' better part o' a bleedin' YEAR, tossers. I hounded Byron fer months, e'en when 'e was tangled up wi' Creed. I fought on through Creed's an' Watkins' reigns, workin' me way up tha' ladder. None ONCE did one o' them say "Oy, Duncan! How'd ye like t' come an' try t' take me title from me?" Smart o' 'em, wha'. An' I'll admit, it was frustratin' as HELL sometimes, kennin' I was guid enough t' be th' champ, but havin' t' wait in line fer a shot. But I ne'er gave up. I ne'er packed up me kit an' left fer th' easier pickin's. An' most importantly, I ne'er stopped _workin'_. Now, fer a quick economics lesson. Ye ken, "IIWF Saturday Nigh'" is the most watched wrestlin' show on th' bleedin' PLANET. Spreadbury spends a load o' jack puttin' tha' show on prime-time every week, an' 'e kens 'e has t' have quality entertainment on tha' show t' get th' viewers t' keep th' show on th' air. 'E can sell Duncan Macbeth, sure, 'cause Duncan Macbeth ALWAYS puts on a guid show. But can 'e sell Duncan Macbeth 'gainst some tosser who's been draggin' 'is arse an' hasn't been heard from in weeks? Ye hear me, Williams, _former_ number-one contender? Th' answer is nay, 'e can't! Nobody will care 'bout a match tha' I'm jus' plain goin' t' dominate. 'E can book tha' tripe on th' War Room, fer Jaysis' sake. Sae 'e puts Duncan Macbeth in a tag team, or 'e puts Duncan Macbeth 'gainst Shadoe Rage, who's also a damned fierce competitor but has designs on another belt, or 'e books 'im 'gainst another champion, 'cause THA'S interestin'! At th' very least, it guarantees ME some competition, which seems t' be sorely lackin' in th' IC division of late. Make no mistake about it, yis sooks yis. I'll put up th' title 'gainst any man who's got th' stones t' face me in th' ring. I've nothin' t' fear from any o' yis. I've PROVEN me worth. Maybe some o' yis haven't yet, an' tha's why yis're still sittin' by th' mailbox, waitin' fer tha' invitation. Sae all yis whingin' tossers out there who have t' gall t' say tha' Duncan Macbeth hasn't been a "fightin' champion", tha' Duncan Macbeth does no' deserve t' hold th' Intercontinental Title -- in particular Steele, Sampson, an' maybe e'en yuirself, Dross -- go back an' look at wha' I did, wha' I went through, t' get MY shot. An' ask yuirselves if ye're willin' t' do likewise, before yis go wastin' me time wi' yuir pathetic whinin'. 'Cause I'll fight ANYBODY. Anybody _worth_ fightin'. [Macbeth wipes away more of the sweat that has beaded on his forehead during his diatribe, and he chuckles to himself as he sits back into the worn easy chair.] DM: Heh heh. So much fer me "manifesto", wha'. Now, t' more immediate business. Simon Lebec, I'll bet ye think ye're goin' t' have th' time o' yuir life tomorrow nigh', don't ye, ye wee tosser? Me tag team partner's descended in t' an alcohol-fueled hell, mostly on account o' me thick-heided cousin, Andrew, who'll be fightin' on yuir side tomorrow nigh'. Ye probably figure ye've got me righ' where ye want me, do e no'? Well, think again, "Showstopper". First off, I've known Timothy N. Turner fer years, an' 'e's ne'er been nothin' but guid t' me. 'E's a man I can depend on, in th' ring an' out, an' I'm sure tha' 'e feels likewise about me. I ken tha' 'e's goin' t' be in fine shape tomorrow nigh', an' tha's th' first bit o' bad news fer ye. Second, ye probably think tha' I'm goin' t' go easy tomorrow nigh', 'cause I'll be fightin' me own cousin. Well, let me tell ye somethin', Andrew hasn't exactly gotten on me guid side since 'e barged in t' th' IIWF an' started playin' silly buggers wi' this "Masked Terror" bollocks, an' then started runnin' 'is fat cake-hole on Tim an' me both! [Macbeth rises from the chair again, approaching the camera like a wolf approaches a stricken deer, his words growing angrier with each passing moment.] Ye've got some bleedin' nerve, Andrew, don't ye, comin' in 'ere an' puttin' ME down! ME! Yuir own flesh an' blood! Let me tell ye somethin', ye great sheep-shaggin' sod! I'm no' tha' same homeless teenager tha' showed up on yuir doorstep in Sapporo anymore, ye get tha'? I'm no' tha' know-nothin' street fighter tha' ye used t' order around th' bleedin' dojo from sunrise t' sunset anymore! I'm a better wrestler NOW than ye EVER were, auld man! I'm th' bleedin' IIWF Intercontinental Champion! I climbed t' th' TOP o' th' greatest league in th' world, an' I did it ALL wi' NO thanks t' YE! Ye smug... self-righteous... manipulatin'... BASTARD! [Macbeth catches himself suddenly, as it dawns on him that he is thundering at the top of his lungs at the camera. The Scot seems momentarily shaken by his outburst, but quickly composes himself.] DM: Ye've got somethin' ye'd like t' say t' me, Andrew? Ye can say it t' me FACE tomorrow nigh', righ' in th' middle o' th' ring, cousin. An' ye can be damned sure I'll have a few words fer ye, as well. [Macbeth's face suddenly darkens, and his eyes narrow into green slits, as he leans close into the camera, a thin smile creeping across his face.] DM: I hope ye weren't countin' on blood ties t' save ye tomorrow nigh', Lebec. I hope ye're no' countin' on TNT hittin' th' sauce tomorrow nigh' t' save ye, either. Nothin's goin' t' save ye from me, "Showstopper". An' after tomorrow nigh', ye've got one week left t' get yuirself a pair o' water wings, wha'. Ye're goin' t' need 'em. Mark me. [Fade.] [The shot fades in showing a rainy afternoon in one of the relatively rare sights of an undisturbed old growth forest on Vancouver Island, on Canada's west coast. Timothy Turner can be seen, wearing mud covered sweat pants and jacket, doing knee bends in ankle deep mud with a hefty sized deadfall hoisted onto his shoulders. Tom Turner and Akira Saito stand nearby, where the camera can hear them but TNT can not.] TT: He's in peak physical shape. I don't think I've ever seen him this good. AS: The body is willing... TT: But the mind...? AS: I can't tell. He is regaining a focus that he seemed to lose after winning the Cruiserweight Title. Yet it is a lot easier to face your fears far removed from them. It is not Andrew Macbeth that your brother fears but rather the thought that the things that Andrew has said are correct. TT: Will he be ready? AS: One week ago I would have said yes but this match tomorrow in the Congo... TT: It's too soon. AS: Yes. It could undo all we have accomplished here. The potential to return to the state we saw him last week... TT: No. That just won't happen. Timothy has too much pride. AS: It is his pride that may be his undoing. His fear that his pride may be undeserved could stop him on his quest to find himself. One thing is for sure. The match in the Congo will be the turning point...one way or the other. [Fade] [Camera opens with "The Savior" Simon Lebec, scrolling through a photo album, pointing to various pictures] SL: And this here was me an' Mark Bagwell, fighin' in th' most gruellin' Texas Death match the likes o' y'all ain't never seen. [Lebec nods] Yessir, spent two weeks in th' hospital after that there one. Don't think Bagwell ever did recover. [Lebec points to another picture] An' this here is me, fightin' the Bishop fer the title, way back when. M' lungs collapsed under th' big man. Still don't think I can breathe right. Musta developed gills or somethin'. [Lebec points to another picture] An' this here is me, pinnin' Quigley. A former IC champeen hisself. [Lebec closes the photo album, and looks directly into the camera] Steve Roberts, ya ask whether I got th' stuff ta wear Duncan's IC title? I ask ya where ya draw yer conclusions? Prepared ta face th' challenge? Yeah, I been ready fer almost two years now. I been ready fer m' chance at th' ring. An' the good Lord'll take me there. Taken from Job 23:10, "But HE knows the way that I take. When HE has tested me, I will come forth as gold." [Lebec nods once again] An' I will come forth as gold. IC gold. Ol' Duncan is right. He's still number 1. But I'll make that jump. I shit you not. [Lebec smiles] So Soundbite, ya wanna see what ol' Lebec has left? What he's got ta give? What makes him so darned special ta be fightin' fer the second-most important title in the IIWF? Fact is... pr'haps I don't have a fight left in me. Pr'haps the heartache over them years has taken the toll. Pr'haps gettin' beat by some Minor League greenhorn told me it was time ta pack it up. [Lebec shakes his head] Or pr'haps I just been savin' it fer a special occasion, like winnin' a Double-Eye major. Pr'haps I been savin' it fer Macbeth. Pr'haps I been savin' it fer what most important ta me. An' pr'haps yer gonna find out. Just keep yer eye on th' River Thames. [Camera fades as Lebec stares deeply into the camera] [As Andrew Macbeth steps off the plane, a flock of reporters descends upon him. Andrew continues walking quickly toward the aeroport, causing the reporters to have to scurry to keep up.] Reporter: Andrew? Andrew? Can we have some comments going into your match this Saturday? Andrew: Comments? 'Ere's a comment fer ya, laddie... [A pause as reporters cram their microphones and recorders in the vicinity of Andrew's face, awaiting his next words.] Andrew: [Ahem] "Get stuffed." [And Macbeth grins as he strides away, leaving a crowd of deflated and disappointed media in his wake. Fade] ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Christopher Stonebreaker & "Real Deal" Luke Steele vs. Gunnar "Grizzly" Gaines & Jimmy "the Meatman" Steele ------------------------------------------------------------------------ LM: Here we have another match-up with some odd pairings which could have great consequences on Ring Wars 5. How do you see this match? IH: This one is easy -- Stonebreaker and the real Steele win in a rout. LM: Why do you think that? IH: Because Steve Roberts loves Meatman, so he must be an idiot. LM: But Steve also loves the Fury. IH: Ummm... well, maybe that rule isn't _always_ correct. LM: All four competitors had thoughts to share with us this week. [The camera opens on the scene of Christopher Stonebreaker seated on a jeep, with a nice little "dent" marking his forehead from the confrontation between Steele and himself. In his hands is a map, and Chris twists the map in all sorts of directions before crumpling it up in his hands.] CS: So it seems that our esteemed front offices think you and I can keep away from one another long enough to deal with Meat and Gaines, Luke? [Chris lets out a huge laugh as he stares down at the map and tosses it in the back of the jeep.] You know something? They're probably more lost than I am at the moment. You honestly don't expect me to work with you, do you Luke? Well, I'll tell you what, for one night... one night, Luke, I'll put my hatred behind me for a moment. That's right. You and I are stuck as partners. I ain't liking it, but I'll just have to deal with it. But I promise you this. As soon as we're done dealing with Meat and the new chef of the IIWF, I'm turning all my focus right back on you, Steele. That's right Luke, just cause I can work with you for a while, ain't going to mean I like you any better. Hell, after this is all over with, I'll probably even hate you even more than I did before the Rumble in the Jungle is over with. [Chris hops down off the hood of the jeep, and makes his way around to the side, where he climbs up in the doorless vehicle, and turns the engine over.] Meat, Gaines, all I can say is. For a short time, I'm supposedly ain't allowed to lay a hand on my partner for the evening, and leaves me only two other people to take my frustrations out on. And I got a lot of those feelings welling up inside right now. A lot! Fortunately for you guys, it ain't personal...It's business, and I always take care of business before pleasure. But after that's finished, Steele... It's nothing but pleasure. [Chris suddenly lurches the jeep forward, and races past the camera, which pivots and follows the vehicle as it drives off into the distance, ducking under a clearing of trees.] [Scene: an IIWF sponsored autograph session. Set up in a line are athletes such as Joe Petrow and 4M, Ryan Howard, and the Prophets of Rage. Off to one side, the "Savior" Simon Lebec is giving a sermon to part of the crowd, while IIWF VP Gregg Osterhout hands out "Wrestle Clean" pamphlets and buttons to the waiting line. At the end of the line is "Real Deal" Luke Steele, and beside him is the mammoth Stone, towering over Luke. An IIWF cameraman is set up next to Luke.] LS: [signing a stack of pictures] It's nice to see that some of the fans appreciate the hottest damn wrestler in the world especially once we got out of that armpit called Portland. The Real Deal a ppreciates his many legions of fans, baby dolls. You know, with Osterhout over there and his big "Wrestle Clean" campaign, I can't help but wonder how a match like the one for this weekend got signed. Afterall, nobody 100% clean could have booked it. Christopher Stonebreaker and the Real Deal on the same side, baby dolls? Not gonna happen. The only backup I need is this beast, ladies and gents. [Points to Stone] Hands of Stone will crush rockheads like Stonebreaker, but that's enough of the funny stuff. [Luke stops for a moment, and hands a signed photo to a small boy, who sticks out his tongue at Luke and runs to his mother. Stone starts after the boy, but Luke holds him back.] LS: Easy there, big guy. Damn, what's Blue been teaching you? Little people aren't targets. Now big people, they're fair game. Big people like Chrissy Stonebreaker, who I really hate to waste the show talking about. To be honest, I'm kind of glad that the Meatman is on the other team, it gives me a chance to beat the hell out of two people I truly despise. Gunnar Gaines, you're merely in the wrong place at the wrong time, and teamed up with a guy who's entire vocabulary consists of "Ugh... agh... meat...". I respect you for all you accomplished outside of Portland, and even moreso for taking it to that neaderthal. Cute trick with the ice freezer too, but he got taken out too soon. Better luck next time. [Steele stands up to pose for a picture taken by a pair of young girls, and flexes a little. The girls walk away, giggling.] LS: Always nice to give something back. Anyways, I'll put my final thoughts into words that Stoney and Meatman can understand: Me good... you bad... Me beat you up! [Fade down on a grinning Steele, while Stone stands impassively like always.] [SCENE: A kitchen.] [Gunnar "Grizzly" Gaines is standing before us behind one of those kitchens designed for television, complete with the mirror above the counter. He's wearing the chef's hat you saw in his first IIWF appearance, as well as a bloody apron which says "The Baddest Cook Running."] GGG: Ahhhh ... wood grain burgers. One of my favorite recipes. [He is wadding up hamburger in a bowl, his hands bloody. He stops to pour the contents of a jug into the bowl ... then continues kneading.] Meatman ... I don't know what the hell is cooking in Danny Spreadbury's brain. You've gotta admit that making me your tag team partner really puts ME in charge of your health for the night. And that's kinda like putting Saddam in charge of the button. HE loves it ... you're gonna hate it. And the result? It could get uglier than a porcupine road pizza. [He scratches his beard in a thinker's position. Then he smiles, brightening as he realizes something.] But there's one thing on your side, kiddo. See, the Grizz hates to take a loss -- even if winning means helping out a squishy brown fart stain such as yourself. So help you I will ... [raising his hand to swear] -- I promise, scout's honor -- [hand down] ... when you and I get in the ring in darkest Africa to take on Christopher Stonebreaker and "Real Deal" Luke Steele. [He frowns, apparently holding his nose to even talk about people like them.] Sticks and stones will certainly NOT break my bones, and neither will two geeks named Stonebreaker and Steele. You two are in the same situation as me and dead meat. You hate each other, and Spreadbutter's gotta make you two work together for some damn reason. You know, I think it's most appropriate that you two are going to have a water bucket match. See, you're both all wet. But I'm here to tell you that you might just taste a little metal a week early if you know what I mean. And Meatman? Wrestling you is going to be like molding hamburger patties. I can't wait to wring the blood out. [He grabs a handful of hamburger out of the bowl and shoves it in his mouth. Blood runs out of the corners of his mouth. He gives a Grizzly Grin, rubbing his stomach all the while.] Mmmmmmmmmm - mmmmmmm! [He burps] Deee-licious. And if you can't quite swallow that, there's only one thing you've gotta do. Only problem is, ain't no one done it yet! [thumb to himself] BEAT _ME_ -- IF YOU CAN. [Fade.] [Seattle, WA. Mt. Olympus: Jimmy the Meat, clad in red plaid hunter’s garb and armed with a hunter’s bow, crunches his way through a snow blanketed forest.] MM: Loves it out here. Try to come up when I can. I don’t just process meat. I butch it, I hunt it. Trap it. See, Gainesburger? Ya aint figured it out yet. That’s what I was tellin’ all my little cutlets last week. Learn stuff. Be somebody. Ya got all riled, said I was stupid. Well, I’ve built a national food chain, that’s gotta count fer somethin.’ Ya said, ‘Mr. Steele, I build stuff, too! I was born big as a house to a family of wrasslin’ clowns. I can do that. Oh, yeah -- I can drink too. I’m an alcoholic. Yeah, Gaines. Ya must be proud. [The Meatman bends over to check out some droppings.] Cold out here. Not as cold as that truck. Still got freezer burn on my kielbasa. Yeah, ya really got me. Stay up late on that one? Gaines, yer as yella as those grizzly teeth o’ yours. You attack me while I’m in a fight with the IIWF Heavyweight Champ, then; when ya gots a chance to go one on one with “The Meat,” whaddaya do? Ya jump at the chance to put a steel door between my fist and your grizzly grin. I near killed myself tryin’ to get out so I could whup your ass some more. [Sound of wood banging from far away.] A buck, I think. Cleanin’ moss off his points. Well, Bear meat. I did enjoy kickin’ yer ass. Did ya hear my cutlets screamin’? Meat, meat, meat, meat! But ya got away. I bet ya figure a draw against “The Meat” equals a win. Hey, next time. I got it. Real mind games for ya. Why don’t ya hide under the ring until I go home, or throw water balloons at me from the balcony? Better yet, just shoot me with a bull moose gun. Ya coward. Why didn’t yer daddy just put you on an ice floe when you were born? I hear that’s what you people do to little girls.” I bet ya just sat down to a couple strips of beef flank marinated in wood grain alcohol, and yer thinkin’ what’s this shiverin’ in my gut? Is it cuz I’m afraid to team up with the Meatman Saturday night? And who was that large bearded guy at my butcher’s? Was that a new guy? Why was he so hot ta sell me this prime cut? Was that a grizzly shit-eatin’ grin he flashed me?” It’s all startin’ ta come together. Yer gonna feel "The Meat." gizzard gams, because “The Meat” is ON! [Sound of a twig snapping in the woods.] What’s that? [Sniffs air] A bear? Well, he’s more scared a me than I am of him. [Fade] ------------------------------------------------------------------------ "The Demon" Damien Lestat vs. Charles Scheffield ------------------------------------------------------------------------ LM: A contrasting pair could never be found with less in common than these two. Scheffield has class and Lestat... IH: You know, I think the fans are crying out for a title match between Damien Lestat and Dirt Dog. LM: But neither of them has a title. IH: I know. It would be for the vacant "Wrestler with least control over his bodily functions" belt. LM: Let's hear from both of these individuals. [Camera up to a too-close close-up of the heavy-breathing; acne filled face of "The Demon" Damien Lestat. His rancid breath steams the lens and his black pulpy teeth are exposed when he greets the visitor with a smile. In an act of self-preservation, the IIWF cameraman backs a step away, thus, the viewer sees this truly disgusting sight...] [As he takes a drag on the nub of a cigarette and exhales, he nods; coughs and gags up a mucussy gog which ends up hanging from his scraggily beard.] DL: [In his gravelly voice] Damn f menthol... [Another drag...more gagging....more innards hanging from his now gooey beard] DL: [Kinda wiping his mouth] Chucky-_God-Damned_-Sheffield...the man that thinks he's better than _me_... [Another drag of the filterless butt; another round of gagging.....end result being a few more ounces of phlegm spilling onto his face...] DL: [Ignoring the fluid] So tell me, Chucky...just why do you think you're better than me? 'Cause you're rich? 'Cause you're a f pretty- boy?... [A quick pause as Lestat inspects himself] DL: [A cavity-filled grin and another drag] I'm a pretty-boy, too! [Suddenly, Lestat plops to the floor cackling at his obviously untrue statement. The more Lestat laughs, the more drewl spews from his mouth onto his now-foamy beard...] DL: You're not better than me, Chucky! No f way! No f how! [Lestat flicks the cigarette butt away, leans to his left and slides Mr. Coolie over to him] DL: [Holding the red-and-white cooler] Mr. Coolie? You think I"m attractive, dontcha'? [The foamed-up Lestat manuevers his plastic friend in a "yes" motion. Lestat smiles with glee and hugs Mr. Coolie] DL: I knew it! I knew it! I'm _not_ ugly!! [Lestat carefully sets Mr. Coolie back onto the ground and addresses the camera. His dark eyes widen and the mucus-filled beard glistens in the lighting as he speaks] DL: Chucky....Chucky.....Chucky....we'll just see who'll the pretty-boy will be on Saturday... [After a glassy stare, Lestat breaks out into a cackling laugh; picks up Mr. Coolie and hugs him tight while swinging his torso in back and forth. All the while, a spray of fluids streams off his beard from the movement.....Fade.] [The camera fades in on a shot which appears to be about ten feet above a road. Not much else appears to be in sight, though it cannot be said that this is out in the middle of the country. The fog covering the area gives one a feeling that it cannot possibly be currently very warm. Soon enough, we are treated to the reason this barren suburban shot has been taken in the first place as a long, white double stretched limousine pulls into view. The shot smoothly zooms in as the lengthy vehicle comes to a stop. The back door on the right opens just as the vehicle stops... and the man stepping out is none other than Charles Scheffield, bedecked in a three piece suit of high quality. To those who know people of high class such as Scheffield, they may find it strange that there wasn't someone else there to handle the door for him. It appears the man must be in a hurry.] CS: As one may be able to gather I am in quite a rush. I have a plane to catch soon or else I'll be stuck here in Connecticut for the weekend. I do feel I need to address certain issues, however, so I did arrange for this camera crew to be ready en-route to the airport. Firstly, this "King of the Mountain" match at Ring Wars Five just may be my ticket to the top in this organization. I am not going in there to tell people how great they are this time around... I am going to show them why I am an up and coming star in this sport. I still don't believe that I have done everything I could to deserve any kind of special treatment or recognition... but at Ring Wars, I intend to once and for all show the doubters that Scheffield is not just a one hit wonder. I shall prove that what you see now is merely the beginning... and what the future holds shall be open for my taking. [Scheffield really seems to be trying to make this as short as possible because it appears he must be running late for his plane.] Now, the whole reason I have to catch this plane is my match this weekend with Damien Lestat. Now, I don't really know much about you... I doubt I know anyone like you. Of course... we are from totally different sections of society... there is absolutely no common ground between us. All I can say is I shall show that once again, the only way to wrestle is to "Wrestle Clean". I know those of us who choose to go this route are few in numbers... but I'd venture to say that we are also some of the top competitors in this sport... and not coincidentally either. The fact that we don't rely on shattering rules, or shattering chairs over people's heads I believe is what makes us the true leaders. It's the same with those who choose to use vulgar language to make themselves appear to be strong... those who choose to wrestle extreme to create an aura of power I believe are actually insecure individuals merely trying to fit into a society created by the people who choose to be part of an ever degrading moral code. In other words, it proves nothing. But that's why at Ring Wars, it will be a pleasure to finally face off against another man who believes in the basic virtues of wrestling... of course I am speaking of Ike Sampson. Ike, I have to say you have really stuck your neck out for the sport... it can't be easy to lead the way to wrestling clean. You definitely have my respect. [Scheffield looks at his watch and appears a bit surprised.] Well, I'd best be going. Lestat... I'm not missing this flight! I hope you're ready. Carry on. [With that, Scheffield steps back into the limo and even before he closes the door, it begins it's trek once more down the road toward what most likely is the airport... as the camera simply pans with it. The camera then fades.] ------------------------------------------------------------------------ "Enigma" Takezo Musashi vs. Ike Sampson ------------------------------------------------------------------------ LM: The poster child for "Wrestle Clean" takes on the anti-christ of "Wrestle Clean". [As the camera pans over to Icehawk, you can see that he is almost bouncing off the chair in frustration.] IH: Boy, that Ike Sampson is a great wrestler. And a fine poster boy for VP Gregg's "Wrestle Clean" campaign. LM: And his opponent? IH: Ike's a huge star in Japan, you know. I've heard they are even going to make an animated film about him. LM: And Saturday, he's wrestling someone you know very well. IH: I've heard that Ike killed someone recently, but I can't believe that. Ike just doesn't seem like that kind of guy. LM: Speaking of almost killing someone, Ike's got an awfully tough opponent on Saturday, doesn't he? IH: You are a mean, mean man, Larry. LM: [smiling] Next time, don't give me a heart attack when you show up. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Richard "Moxy" Blue & Derek Mota vs. "To Excess" Rick Williams & Marty Warnett ------------------------------------------------------------------------ IH: This should be a great match -- four of the finest athletes in the history of the IIWF! LM: Really? IH: No. It's Marty "So much ability, so little effort" Warnett and three losers. Moxy wants to be me, but doesn't have any talent. Mota's still pissed off that he couldn't get into Genesis, and Rick Williams still hasn't realized that he's not in the minor leagues any more. You actually need some skills to make it in the IIWF. LM: I never thought I would see a match where Mota and Blue had the edge in teamwork! Marty Warnett is sure ready for this match and he had some thoughts to share with us! [SCENE: Complete Darkness. Iron Maiden's "Fear Of The Dark" starts to play.] VO: Rick, are you afraid of darkness? [A flashlight comes on, highlighting the face of Marty Warnett from under his chin.] MW: The night time... is the right time. Rick, are you afraid of the boogie man under your bed... or your mum finding your magazines under there? Rick, in the Valley of the blind ... the One Eyed trouser snake is never short female attention. If a woody falls on LaRue, would her muffled screams of delight be heard? [Fade] ------------------------------------------------------------------------ The Natural Predators vs. the Night Patrol ------------------------------------------------------------------------ LM: Another huge match up as the Night Patrol takes on the former tag champs! IH: You know, there are six tag matches on this card, and this is the only one that actually has two good tag teams in it. If there was any justice at all in the world of wrestling, this match would be for the world titles, instead of being buried at the bottom of the card. LM: So you are impressed with Night Patrol in their second IIWF stint? IH: Yes, I am. And I remember very well how tough they were the first time. People forget that for a long time, Night Patrol was the only team with a pinfall victory over Cold Spell. Unfortunately, they left before we ever got a rematch. And we were never able to work out the match with the Predators. LM: And now, of course, you won't wrestle your 4-D teammates. IH: Larry, I'm not part of it. Really. I mean it. LM: So you wouldn't have a problem with a match between Cold Spell and the winners of this match? IH: Of course not. I'll be the Cruiserweight Champion by then, but I'm sure I could make room in my schedule. LM: Let's hear come comments from the Night Patrol. [Shot of the Night Patrol on the IIWF Charter Jet, en route to the Congo, Stowing their gear in the overhead.] JB: Gonna be good to go back to the Motherland. After the chaos there, they'll love to see a brother dish out some law and order. RG: Predators, you may not have the belts, but you're former champs, and when we win, we'll show everyone we deserve to be considered for a shot! So what, Dragons, if we just came back? Jack's been busting heads here before you laced up your boots! BH: Just like Ali and Foreman, it's time for another Rumble in the Jungle, Predators... JB: Actually, It's time to get Jacked in the Jungle! [Fade.] ________ ______ | || |\ \ /\ / /| __|.................................................. | || | \ v v / | __| Trash Talk |_||_| \_/\_/ |_|.................................................... LM: With a crad as jam-packed as this one is, it's hard to think that there could be anyone left to participate in Trash Talk! THere are a few, however, starting with the freshest new team to burst onto the tag scene, the American Dragons! [We open on a shot of bushland. We're looking at a stretch of African scrubland. Here, vegetation tries to survive in the harsh Congo outback] The only signs of any kind of civilization are the dirt road running along... ...and Major Johnathan Ivey. The elder Ivey stands in his Army gear...drill instructor's hat, tan shirt, and khaki's. He takes a sip from a canteen, a small one, as it's obvious he's not sweating under the rays of the sun. In the distance, along the road, we see a small cloud of dust] JI: So, this is the IIWF? When my son Bob called me up fron Portland to say that he was considering joining Joe in a pro wrestling career, I supported this ....idea. I always told Bob that he could do whatever he wanted. And that before he decided what to do, he should experience life outside of Fort Carswell. So, he goes to Oregon State. He comes home on Christmas break, and he brings this Italian kid home with him. That kid, of course, was Joe Scalercio. Now, when I first met him, he was in damn good shape. He had been a high school wrestler, and now was at Oregon State on scholarship. I don't put much faith in cake-eating civies, but I took a good hard look at Joe...and decided the kid was a fighter. Growing up like he did, it was no surprise. Anyway, they get accepted to the IIWF as this tag team. The American Dragons. I don't know what drove them to accept this name...but it sounded proud and feirce. One day, I'm watching them on TV...Carswell is a BIG wrestling base... and I see my boy and his best friend working pretty well as a tag team...but something was missing. Here they are, being beat up by 80's rejects, two Jap gay boys, and two Texas cops. The cops I understand, but the other teams? I see this announcement Saturday, and next thing I know, Bob is calling me up... "Dad, how would you like to help motivate us leading up to Ring Wars?" I catch the next plane, and now here I am. I'm going back to Ft. Carswell after this PPV thing, so everyone out there can breathe easy. I'm here to help Joe with what he's missing...a killer instinct. [The cloud of dust is getting closer as Johnathan continues to talk] JI: That's Joe and Bob. They've been on a 10 klick run. This is the finish line. See, Joe's a good guy...and if this was a wrestling match, he could defintely hold his own. But this is going to be a brawl. Tornado rules? Sounds like my kind of fight. So, I'm motivating these two. Not that it'll be too hard...I am not impressed with the competition. The Night Patrol. Yeah, they beat the Dragons a couple of weeks ago. But serve notice...my boys showed 'Any team, any time' ain't just a catch phrase. Garcia and Blazer....two Texas cops. Yeah, you might be big and bad...but you're just coming back, boys. A fight against the rookie Dragons and the Rotundos ain't anything to brag about... I think you'll get a harsh reminder about just how hard the rings here are. Then's there is the Fabulous Ones. If there's ANY name for flaming then that one... Look, you guys may be good...but you're way too full of yourselves. You're so concerned with impressing the ladies that you're going to get blindsided here. Just don't show up, ok? Hell, the only promise in this ring is the Dragons and the Machines! Wong and O'Neal...look, I know a lot of people hate this change in Wong's attitude...but don't deny, it's worked for them. See, you two guys have had 'unit integrity'. You may have bitched at each other in the past, but you could always work together. Now that you're on the same page, you can only improve. But you're going to have the painted freaks the Harelquins all over you, and I don't think you can handle them. So, with the Night Patrol getting a harsh lesson...the AbFabs not showing up...and the Machines getting ambushed... ...all Joe and Bob need is to give them all a little push...and they'll be on their way to the #1 contendership. [We hear heavy panting...and turn to see Bob Ivey and Joe Scalercio come to a stop. Both double over, hands on their knees] JS: We....made it.... BI: Ah....that was nothing....try doing this in Texas heat.... JI: Well done! Now, let's get to the jeep and go home! [Joe looks around...and see's no jeep] JS: Where's....the jeep? [Johnathan Ivey smiles] JI: Oh, about a mile down the road. JS: WHAT? JI: LET'S GO! DOUBLE TIME, MOVE IT! [Bob and a reluctant Joe turn and begin running again, Johnathan keeping pace, as we fade out] [The scene is a local gymnasium. Several people are working out, either running around an indoor track or using several nautilus machines. Inside a side room are several women and a few men engaged in aerobics. But the centerpiece is a ring in the middle. Inside, Paul Wong is sparring with another man. On the outside, Simon O'Neal, carrying a clipboard, looks on intently. Suddenly, Simon shakes his head, hops up to the apron and enters the ring. Inside, Paul has his opponent in a headlock. Simon puts the clipboard under his arm and walks over.] SO: No, no, no! You're doing it all wrong, Paul. [Paul releases the headlock] You call that a chokehold? It's no good, no good at all. You're not putting enough pressure on the esophogus. Remember, the point is to choke him out and cut off his air. If he can still breathe, even a little, you're not doing it right. PW: But if I put any more pressure, the referee... SO: Forget the referee! It's a no-DQ match- we can away with anything. Chokeholds, foreign objects, double-teams, using the ropes... We have two weeks until Ring Wars Five, and I have to wipe out every "do-gooder" instinct that you've taught yourself. I mean, really- can you even hit someone with a chair? PW: Of course I can. When we faced the West Coast Conenction, I... SO: No. Not when you're mad. When you're rational. Can you take a steel chair and smash it against a man's head, maybe against someone who has never done a single thing against you in his life? Can you give him a concussion, possibly knocking out some teeth? Could you do it to this guy? [Simon points to their sparring partner.] Sparring Partner: Wait a second, I... SO: Was I talking to you, Sparky? I didn't think so. Shut up. [Turns back to Paul.] Well... can you? PW: I... [Pauses] I'm not sure. I think I can, but... [thinks for a second] Let me go back, take a shower, and think about it... [Paul shakes the hand of his sparring partner, then steps out of the ring. Simon turns to the sparring partner and begins speaking.] SO: I'm trying, but he's been such a damn boy scout for so long... hey, what can you do, right? Sparring Partner: Maybe if he wasn't such a damn cowa... [BAM! The sparring partner drops like a shot, clutching his head. To the right, Paul Wong stands over, clutching a chair in his hands. He looks at his fellow Machine.] PW: You know something, Simon. That really... REALLY... felt good. SO: I've been telling you that for years. Now we're ready for Ring Wars Five. I even have a surprise coming up. [Checks his watch] Well, the women's volleyball team is about finished with their practice, and I plan on trying to get several of them drunk. Let's meet them at the bar. PW: Works for me. But I get dibs on the tall blonde. SO: You can't. I've already been talking to her since last week. PW: Yeah. Talking... and failing. She turned you down fast enough to... [Paul and Simon continue to disagree as the camera fades.] [Scene opens with “The Universal Heartthrob” Agito Nakajima and “Sweet” Sho Satsuma leaving an arena after a show for another promotion. They’re carrying workout bags. Agito is wearing, sandals, black slacks, and a blue gabardine shirt. Sho is wearing blue jeans, boots, black shirt with the words “It’s ShoTime!” on the front. They walk up to a limbo and throw their bags in it. It’s dark out, and the sound of cars leaving the parking lot can be heard in the background. The duo is lit up by the arena lights.] Agito: Well, hello, Double-Eye! I see that you want an interview. Sho: Isn’t it funny how they want this kind of thing from us, but need nothing from the so called champions, the Down Children? Agito: That’s because the Prez and the board of directors know that everybody wants to know what’s going on with us. We’re addictive, not to mention we’re the best. Now, as for the title situation, I see President Spreadbury didn’t look into the allegations of referee tampering. Sho: Let's face it. It’s so obvious the referee was paid off, it would hurt Spreadbury’s ego. There’s no way in the Down Children’s fondest dream they could beat the Natural Predators. I think it’s a case of, don’t ask, don’t tell. If the Prez was to investigate, he’d find out his federation wasn’t up to par, and it would leave a huge blemish on it. So, he turns his back. It’s all about politics, which we don’t need, to be the best. Agito: Next weekend at the PPV, we’re going to win a title shot, and Down Children, if I were you I’d lose that belt then, because if we get in the ring with you again, it’s going to be a curtain call for you. [At this point the Lovely Bertha and Ms. Miki come out from the arena doors the Fabs came out of earlier.] Bertha: Oh, look at what we have here, it’s the IIWF cameras. Well, I have a few words for the Machines. You two dolts are in for it now. The Fabs are at the top of their game, and you’re in their way to the IIWF titles. Agito: Let's go ladies. [Bertha walks around the limo and gives Sho and big “How do you do!” kiss. All four of them climb into the car. The camera pans down to the window. It opens and Ms. Miki looks out.] Ms. Miki: Paul-kun, what are you doing? I thought you learned your lesson about Simon O’Neal? Don’t you remember all the things you told me about him. You said he was scum. You said he was nothing, that you had to carry the whole team. Well, what happened? You’re back with him again. [She shakes her head from side to side.] Too bad. [Fade.] [Scene opens on a hotel room. Scattered across the room are various bottles of soda and beer, empty bags of Doritos and McDonalds, and crumpled up paper...wrapping paper. The camera finally finds the Down Boys, newly [sorta] crowned IIWF World Tag Team Champions, still wearing their championship belts around their waists, although they now sport street clothes. "Dazzling" Dan Oliver has taken a bow from off one of the packages and placed it on his hair, while Adam Peterson is ripping open another package. The shot jiggles a bit, and we now realize that the footage is being shot with a handheld camera] AT: Damn it Adam, slow down! [Adam Peterson stops opening up the package and looks up slowly and sadly at Awesome T, who we now know is holding the camera.] AT: Danny, who's it from? [Dan Oliver playfully snatches the package from out of Adam's hands and reads the tag with a smile on his face] DO: [reading] "To The Down Boys, good luck on your title reign, Larry Morton" AT: Well, that was nice of Mr. Morton now, wasn't it boys? [Dan Oliver nods and rips open the package and reaches inside, pulling out a large block of cheese] AT: Ugh. How nice...cheese. [mumbles] How does someone give cheese as a gift, cheap bastard Morton, that's why he never get's lai...HEY, what's that over there, Adam? [Adam Peterson runs over to a smaller, rectangular box, and begins to rip it open] AT: ADAM... [Adam Peterson stops, and looks on the box for a card or note, but comes up empty] AP: Nothing here... AT: Well, I guess you'll just have to open it and see... [Adam Peterson rips oven the box and pulls out a red lace teddy. The teddy has a note attached to it] AP: [reading the note] "Congratulations on your success...now maybe you can return this to me...or else I'll have nothing to wear...Becky" AT: [snatching the teddy] I'll take that, Adam...you boys have training...I'll help Becky find her...clothes. But our honeymoon is over, and y'all gotta train. We've been hanging out here in Japan for two weeks now, and you two need to get back into shape. Ring Wars is coming up soon, and we gotta defend our straps against not only against Wild Kingdom, but also against Joey Petrow and his signifigant other, Maurice McArthur. [knock on the hotel door] AT: Who the hell is that...Danny boy, go get the door. [Dan Oliver goes to answer the door, then looks out the doorway. He motions for Adam and T to come over] AT: What Danny, what is...it. [The camera shoots just outside the doorway of the hotel room, where fourteen seperate pieces of table are scattered throughout the hallway. Taped to one of the pieces is a note] AP: [reading the note] "Ask Unique Allah how it felt, March 22, 1997" [The handheld camera and the Down Boys all look down the hall again, then towards each other] AT: Aw shi... [Fade.] [Fade back in to the IIWF studios.] LM: What's wrong with cheese? Anyway we have come to the end of another edition of Countdown to IIWF Saturday Night! Be sure to tune in tomorrow for the finest two hours of wrestling on television...then Tuesday will bring us the last edition of Inside the IIWF by the current production team, you know it will be a great show...and then...the one we've been waiting for...Ring Wars 5! Order now! I'd like to thank Icehawk for appearing this week and I'd like to announce the very special guest for next week's Countdown to Ring Wars 5...none other than former IIWF World champion...from beyond the grave...Deathbringer! +=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= 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 -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=+