C + O + U + N + T + D + O + W + N T + O ________ ______ __ ____ ___ __ . _ ___ | || |\ \ /\ / /| __| / /\ | | || \| \ /\ \ / |\ || / \| | | | || | \ v v / | __| \__ /__\ | | ||__/| |/__\ v | \||| __|-| | |_||_| \_/\_/ |_| \ \| v | \|__/ \| | || \_|| | | __________________________/..............\........|...|.......|....| with Larry Morton 1 May 1998 [The scene opens with a shot, panning left to right, of a sterile white room with what appears to be a small potted orange tree growing in one corner. The shot could be of an office or a credit union... except that in the centre of the room is a large, low wooden table. Sitting on the table are two small, wrapped gift packages. As well, on the wall behind the table, flanked by two long, framed pictures featuring traditional Japanese scenery, is a large sign that reads "Countdown to IIWF Saturday Night"; then, in much larger letters beneath, "Presented by Tsubaraya Enterprises". On one side of the table, sitting on a tatami mat, is Larry Morton.] LM: Welcome all IIWF fans to another edition of Countdown to IIWF Saturday Night! It is our first episode emenating from our new set that was...uh...generously donated by Mr. Tsubaraya. We've got a great card to run down a little later, but first let me introduce our co-host for the evening. One half of the new tag team that is taking the IIWF tag division by storm... Andrew Macbeth! [Andrew walks in to the set wearing blue jeans and cowboy boots, with a Scotland Claymores jersey. He takes one look at the set, rolls his eyes heavenward, and begins to take his cowboy boots off.] LM: Ummm... welcome to the show. AM: Wot th' hell is _this_ crap?! I come 'ere t' be a wrestlin' commentator, nae t' have supper at some twa-bit Jap steakhouse! LM: Well, actually, this is our new set, courtesy of Mr. Tsubaraya. AM: Oh, Jaysis. Tha' fossil? Nae wonder this place looks like th' bleedin' Bank o' Tokyo. LM: Please, have a seat. [Andrew walks up to the table, then stops and stares at the floor, fuming.] LM: Is there a problem? AM: Problem? Ye bet yuir arse there's a problem! Look at this soddin' table! LM: Yes... what's wrong with it? AM: WOT'S WRONG WITH IT? Ye bloody ignorant Yank! There's a bleedin' trench dug aroond th' table, tha's wot's wrong with it! Cripes, Morton, ye call this Japanese? This is nae Japanese, laddie, this is a table fer a bunch o' soddin' tourists who cannae sit cross-legged fer twa minutes! LM: Umm... well, I've got this trick knee... old football injury... AM: Sweet Jaysis. Let's get on with yuir wee show already... LM: Just before we begin, Rusty Priske, the producer of Countdown, has brought us each a gift. He says it's in honour of May Day...which just happens to be today! [Larry opens his package with relish while Andrew does the same with an air of disinterest. The presents are uncovered as copies of "Das Kapital".] LM: Karl Marx? Great! Did you see him with Groucho and Harpo in "One Night in Casablanca"? It's a classic! [Andrew just stares at his co-host across the table with a jade green glare, then tosses the book over his shoulder and onto the floor.] AM: Already read it. Bloody tripe. LM: Let's see what happened this week on War Room! ________ ______ | || |\ \ /\ / /| __|.................................................. | || | \ v v / | __| REWIND: IIWF Wednesday War Room - 29 April 1998 |_||_| \_/\_/ |_|.................................................... ~ Icehawk def. El Super Gecko ~ Deathbringer def. the Rotundos ~ Rick Williams def. Scott "the Whine" Bloom ~ "Armitage" Steve Spector def. Youth Gone Wild ~ Big Greggy Cool def. Jeff Fullbright ~ Natural Predators def. Night Patrol ~ The Harlequins def. Robert d'Artois & Reiner Ver Magnusson via count-out ~ Christopher Stonebreaker & Eddy "Flap" Jacks fought to a double count-out LM: Wednesday was chock-full of exciting action! We got to see two men advance to the next round of the King of the Cruisers tournament. Both Steve Spector and Big Greggy Cool are one step closer to that prestigious honour! AM: Wednesday was chock-full o' _somethin'_, all right. Morton, lemme tell ye, when Duncan started wrestlin', 'e was a wee lad o' 230 lbs, an' he coulda taken all these tossers straight t' th cleaners. Soddin' bunch o' no-talent Nancy boys, th' lot o' them. ________ ______ | || |\ \ /\ / /| __|.................................................. | || | \ v v / | __| PREVIEW: IIWF Saturday Night - 2 May 1998 |_||_| \_/\_/ |_|.................................................... LM: We've got an incredible line-up of action coming your way tomorrow night... AM: Bollocks. Another week without th' only reason anyone gives a toss aboot th' IIWF... th' Black Watch poundin' th' sweet bejaysis oot o' someone. Why in th' name o' Robert th' Bruce did I have t' come t' this run-doon hellhole of a toon just t' sit aroond on me arse an' put oop with a bunch o' wankers like yis? LM: Not being on the card didn't stop you from making your presence felt last week. There is some question whether our ratings will recover. But enough about the past... ------------------------------------------------------------------------ IIWF World Heavyweight Championship Match: Steve "the Fury" Kowalski vs. Deathbringer ------------------------------------------------------------------------ LM: The IIWF Champ has certainly been through the wringer recently but nothing stops him from lacing up the boots one more time! This week the Fury will face the former champion, the mysterious Deathbringer! AM: Mysterious, me arse. Th' only mystery aboot this tosser is why anyone gives a rat's behind. 'E come on all tough with his wee "darkside" this an' "hellfire" tha'... Someone tell this bloke tha' Bela Lugosi's dead, already. Twa words: Skull. Poomp. Tha' Kowalski must have some Pict blood somewhere in his battered body. LM: Let's hear what the challenger had to say this week. [SCENE: Behind the mortuary. Just like last week Deathbringer is standing there on top of the bridge, wearing his cowl and holding the scythe in his right hand. For the first time ever during his IIWF career, he's standing there in the bright sunlight, and the usually sinister looking shadows of all those dead and twisted trees don't look too frightening anymore. As the camera closes in, the Dark Destroyer turns around and walks towards it, just to stop a few feet away from it. The tall wrestler looks up into the sky as he begins to speak in his low, growling voice] DB: Look at the sun, look at how bright it shines... And still, somewhere else on this world, everything is engulfed by darkness. I often visited those places, those places where the night never is disturbed by daylight, those place where the sun is too weak... [Deathbringer lowers his head and now turns around towards the bridge] DB: The earth turns... and so does the IIWF... that, what once shined brightly fades into forgetfullness, that, what once used to rule the land dies by the sword... Kowalski might be the daylight's king, he might be the men defending the IIWF world heavyweight champion belt with more pride, honor and power than anyone before him ... except me, that is... But there is a golden rule in the world of wrestling, a rule that no one could break until now, and it is a rule that no one ever will break... Someday, someone will enter the scene, someone with even more honor and pride, someone, who is even more powerful then the current champion... and he will dethrone him... [Deathbringer walks towards the bridge, but stops before stepping on it. He turns towards the camera again] DB: No one is invicible... No one... that includes me... and it certainly includes Kowalski... He may have an impressive record, but mine is impressive, too... He might be the current champion, but I have been the champion long before him already... So just what makes all of you think Kowalski will defeat me tomorrow night? Look at what I did to all those preliminaries last week... look at how I handled so-called all-time greats like Dan Kauffman, Otto Verhoeven, Tonnage, Requiem, the Outlaw J.W. Hardin ... the list goes on and on... Remember... My name is the answer to the question... what question? any question... [Deathbringer walks over the bridge, the camera following him closely. He passes by a number of tombstones before reaching a fresh grave, the tombstone of which is lying beside it] DB: Well, mortals... Tomorrow night... Kowalski versus the Reaper... Who will be the victor? Who will be the champion after tomorrow night? And first of all... who will survive that battle... I already told you what the answer is... [Deathbringer reaches down, takes the tombstone and plants it into the earth.] DB: ...and you may take this as a proof... [The camera zooms in to the tombstone, which reads "STEVE "THE FURY" KOWALSKI". Fade, as Deathbringer begins to laugh in his evil way] ------------------------------------------------------------------------ "Lethal Protector" Serge Annis & Charles Scheffield vs. "Enigma" Takezo Musashi & Tiger Claw ------------------------------------------------------------------------ LM: Here's a match the IIWF fans have been dying to see. Can Serge Annis co-exist with Charles Scheffield? Annis has been many things in his career but a "Wrestle Clean" advocate is not one of them. Don't think for one second that Musashi or Tiger Claw will let him off easy, either. AM: Ye wait one bleedin' moment, Morton. How can people be "dyin'" t' see a match between twa teams thrown t'gether at th' last minute? This crap is stinkin' oop th' IIWF tag division, while Spreads lets th' Black Watch, th' jewel in th' croon, ride th' bleedin' pines. Who's th' programmin' genius tha' came oop with tha'? LM: Actually, I think that a match like that would get quite good ratings. Not as good as when Ms. Miki is on the show, but good nonetheless. So, you didn't say who you thought would actually win this match. AM: Wot, like th' slobberin' couch potatoes at home cannae figure it oot? The psychotic Asian stereotypes beat th' snot oot o' tha' mincin' poof Scheffield, 'cos Annis can nae stand 'im. _Duh._ LM: Three of the wrestlers in the match had comments for our viewers. [The scene fades in on one of the IIWF's many board rooms. Sitting at a table. At two ends of the table are The Lethal Protector, Serge Annis and Charles Scheffield. Annis is wearing a black t-shirt and jeans, and sits with his arms crossed, with a very unhappy look across his face. He looks away from Scheffield, observing the picture of J.W Hardin mounted on the wall. Scheffield, wearing a fine three piece suit as always, has quite an unexpressive look on his face. One could assume that the slight grin on his face represents a bit of euphoria... but then again one can never be too sure exactly what an expression from a member of the upper echelon of American society can mean. The two look around, Annis definately uneasy about the situation each he is in, and Scheffield presumably thinking the same. Annis breaks the silence.] SA: Where the Hell is Osterhout?! He was supposed to be here twenty minutes ago. CSc: Oster-who? SA: Whatever. [Annis returns to looking around the room, where a picture of Steve Roberts and Bill Clinton stand together, shaking hands with Steve grinning. Scheffield pulls out a pen from within a pocket of his sports coat and begins tapping it on the table as he waits. A few more moments pass, and Scheffield continues tapping away, the incessant thrum becoming quite annoying. The irritation becomes glaringly apparent on Serge's face. After a few more moments, Serge slams his hands down on the table.] SA: Will you stop that stypid tapping?! It's annoying. CSc Well, excuse me mister President, but I shall do as I please. SA: I don't why the Hell I'm doing this. Teaming with you just isn't worth it. [Annis stands up in his chair, about to leave when the door in the background swings open and out walks the IIWF's V-P, Gregg Osterhout. His normally carefree swagger seems measured, his somber nature in counterpoint to the official Marty Warnett "The Right Man For The Job" T-shirt which he wears. It seems as if the VP expects the occupants of the room to be fighting. He is obviously pleased that they are not. Gregg looks at Annis as he stands up.] GO: Ah, Serge. Glad to see you actually made it. [Gregg places his briefcase on the desktop, and opens it, pulling out an envelope marked: IIWF: CONFIDENTIAL. Gregg smiles at both wrestlers. Annis doesn't return Gregg's well wishes.] SA: You're late. GO: My watch is synchronized to Spreadbury's. If you were with the program, you'd do the same thing. SA: Yeah.... whatever. Now let me sign the damn contract so I can get the Hell out of here. [Osterhout fishes out an official IIWF Fisto Flash pen, unscrewing one of the fingers on the faux-prosthetic to reveal a fine ball point. He smiles quite contentedly at himself. He places the pen on the desk in front of both men. There is a brief staredown between Annis and Scheffield to see who flinches first.] GO: This is foolishness. [He quickly picks up the pen, handing it to Scheffield, as he is closer to where the frustrated VP stands. Obligingly, Scheffield, not taking his eyes off Annis, quickly scribbles out his signature on the contract, then hands the pen back to Osterhout. Serge snatches the pen out of Gregg's hand, and pulls the contract over to his side of the table. Serge begins to look over it. Serge hesitates on signing. Gregg looks a little worried.] GO: Something wron,g Serge? SA: Other than me teaming with him over there? No... so you're sure this is the contract I read over on Monday? GO: Yes... SA: And Claw and Musashi have signed it already? GO: Yes, just look at their names. SA: And I am the last to sign it? GO: Yep. [Serge cracks a faint smile, and signs his name along the dotted line. Gregg returns the smile, happy with how it is turning out. Serge finishes, and Gregg takes back the pen and the contract once the 'Lethal Protector' is finished with it. Gregg holds it up to read.] GO: See, that wasn't so bad. Okay, now to go over this one more time... This contract states... yadda yadda yadda... a tag team contest between Tiger Claw and Takezo Musashi against Serge Annis and Charles Scheffield... set for one fall, victory obtained by pinfalls, submissions, and countouts... No disqualifications... Referee assigned is... WAIT A MINUTE! [Gregg does a double take as he looks back over the contract, with a confused Charles Scheffield looking over his shoulder. Annis begins to grin.] GO: No disqualifications. Serge! SA: Yes sir? GO: How the heck did you get that in there? SA: Always read the fine print, Gregg. CSc: [shocked] My goodness! You cannot possibly expect me to wrestle a no disqualification match! This is _absolutely_ absurd... I _must_ speak with my lawyers about this as soon as possible. [Annis' smile is quickly wiped from his face. Annis hops up to his feet, slamming his hands down on the table, and knocking his chair back. Gregg looks startled by this.] SA: Look Scheffy, I had to wrestle a nice "clean" match last week. And I did just that. Now Gregg here wants to see if I can team with you... Well, I'll team with you under my own conditions! Besides... it's only Musashi! It would do the IIWF some good if I smashed a steel chair over his thick skull, right Gregg? GO: I don't think that... SA: See? CSc: I still do not believe I should be wrestling this form of match. This is _exactly_ the kind of thing I have been against since I first started wrestling. From my standpoint it is nearly hypocrisy. SA: Look Chuck. I did it your way on Saturday. Now it's your goddamn' turn to cross over and see what the other side is like. I wrestled clean, and now it's time for you to wrestle dirty. Besides... it's for the greater good of the federation. [Annis smiles as he bends over and lifts up his jacket from the floor, and puts it on. Osterhout still sports a worried looks on his face. Scheffield seems a bit enraged, though he is visibly trying to restrain himself.] SA: Look... guys... smile. Saturday night will be a big night for us all. I'll... [Rolls his eyes.] ...have to tag with you. You'll have to swing a chair to survive. And Gregg... well, you'll have no choice but to take me off probation. [Annis puts on his Florida State Seminoles hat, and smirks to the V-P and Charles as he heads for the door. Annis turns around as he reaches the door.] SA: It's a win - win situation here. We can't go wrong. See ya Saturday Chuck. Welcome to my world... heh heh heh... [Annis opens the door and closes it, leaving Gregg and Charles still in the room, alone with the cameraman.] [SCENE: A fairly dark, very busy bar. So busy, in fact, that one might assume it's a Friday night. The place is decorated in a sort of industrial style... All surfaces are made of metal, and metal gratings along with pieces of machinery decorate the walls. A Cabbage Patch doll with cybernetic enhancements watches over the front bar, whose patrons stand under the huge pink fun-fur cross with the Jagermeister logo riveted on it that hangs from the ceiling. The camera worms it's way through the black leather clad crowd, trying it's best to steer clear of the menacing looking biker types that get rowdy in one corner. The camera makes its way to the back room... The first thing that catches the viewer's eye is the huge mural on the back wall of a woman's torso and face completely covered with tribal tattoos... Then there's the massive skeleton made from scrap metal and old machine parts, dressed in combat boots... Under the skeleton sits another bar, again, made completely from metal. The bartender, a woman dressed completely in tight fitting black clothing, her hair bleached blonde and shaved up the sides, talks to a small group of people, who, surprisingly enough, respond. As the camera draws closer, we see that the group is made up of several men and women, all in their late twenties or early thirties. Beside a tall woman with waist length brown hair is Tiger Claw, dressed in jeans and a black leather jacket. He notices the camera...] TC: [To the woman beside him] Time to work... Give me a second... [Claw puts down whatever it was that he was drinking and turns to the camera.] TC: Yeah... I'm in a bar. Isn't that where all the "cool" people are doing their interviews today? Now, I know what a lot of you are thinking... Yeah, usually I'm a fairly solitary man. I do what I do for myself, and by myself... At least lately. But, just like the fact that I have a sense of humor, I also like to socialize from time to time. Generally, I dislike people. I dislike them so much that you might call me misanthropic. There are a few people, though, who through time have earned my respect and my loyalty. It takes a long time, and it's damn hard work, but there are some people who I've come to consider my friends. You know, I was just recently talking about loyalty with an aquaintance of mine... A lot of people expect loyalty right off the bat. They don't understand that you can't just expect a person to be loyal to a person or thing unless that person or thing gives a damn good reason. Even then, it takes time. It requires trust. You have to know that your loyalty won't be _betrayed._ There's nothing worse than betrayal. I've been betrayed in the past... I know what it's like... And I'd never do that to another man that I respect... That's why when a friend comes to me and asks me for a favour, I'm right there. That's why I'm here with Musashi... That's why I've ended up in this tag match against Serge Annis and Scheffield. I don't have a contract in the IIWF, so I could have just walked out and refused to participate in this match had I wanted to. But... Because of my loyalty to a friend... Because of a sense of honour... I'm going into this match, and I'm going to do what I need to do. There will be no half way. So that explains why I'm here... But why against Annis? Why Scheffield? Why Kowalski? Yes, money is one reason. I have some reasons, though, that go beyond money. Kowalski, you know as well as anyone else my history in the IIWF. You know the titles I've held. You know my legacy. And you know that I can't just sit back and allow you to reign supreme. I've broken you. Sure, you were beaten badly before I came along, but it was me who shattered your hip. I was the one who loaded the final straw upon the camel's back. You're another name on the list of careers I've helped to end. Annis... You once said that I helped to hold you back. Well, I figure that some consistency was needed. You're this close to a shot at the great glory of the IIWF world title, and I'm afraid that I can't let that shot happen. I can't allow you to be the main event... Not while I still live and breathe. As long as I am able, I will keep you from attaining the goal you've set for yourself. And Scheffield... You are truly the unfortunate one in this situation. You just happen to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. Your own goals just happen to coincide with mine. Make no mistake, though... I will treat you as a sworn enemy in this tag match, simply because you stand across from me on the battlefield. This is the life you chose when you decided to enter the ring. Are you willing to pay the price? During the months of my absence from the IIWF, the actions of the Syndicate continued to spread waves across the organization. Many people are now gone, and new ones are here to take their place. Some of these newcomers weren't here to see first hand what the greatest stable in the entire world actually did to earn their reputation. To those people, I have one thing to say... You're about to find out just why we were remembered. You're all about to get a lesson in the ways we were known for. You will all know... why we were _feared._ Now go... We're done. [Claw turns back to the woman he's sitting with, and continues the conversation that they were engaged in as the cameraman arrived. Suddenly, the shot is blocked by two fairly large forms... The shot widens slightly and gets into focus, revealing the two forms to be two rather huge men with leather riding jackets, long hair, and beards that have been left to grow about 3 years too long covering faces set in stony grimaces... The cameraman is heard, nervously saying, "Ummm... Hi... Buy you guys a beer?" The two men look at each other, snicker slightly, and escort the camerman out of the back room... The shot cuts out.] ------------------------------------------------------------------------ King of the Cruisers Semi-final Match: "Iconoclast" Sean Watts vs. "Armitage" Steve Spector ------------------------------------------------------------------------ LM: We are down to the final four in the King of the Cruisers tournament and these two tough athletes are going into battle to see who will move onto the final match! AM: I spent half me bleedin' career watchin' acrobat shows like this soddin' tripe. I don't give a toss. But I'll pick th' "Iconoclast", only 'cos 'e reminds me o' th' May Fourth movement. LM: Pardon me? AM: May Fourth. Lu Xun. Cripes, don't yis bleedin' Yanks learn _anythin'_ in school? LM: I know about the fourth of July... and fireworks are what we are going to see in this match! Let's hear from both competitors. [As the scene slowly fades in, a dingy kitchen in complete disarray comes into view. The camera begins to pan to one side, revealing numerous cans with dings and dents, but curiously enough, no labels. As the camera finishes panning, it comes to rest on a hunched over Sean Watts who seems busy with something on his lap. His blond hair dangles over his current project, obscuring any view.] SW: The way a man lives his life gives something of a window to his soul. Usually. [A hand brushes his hair back and to one side as Sean raises his head to gaze into the camera. A triumphant smirk comes across his lips as he sets a newly opened can atop a haphazard pyramid of other cans. He dips the middle finger of his other hand into the can's contents, it emerges with a rather unappatizing glob of some grey substance on it. Watts pauses a moment before biting off the glob to taste it - spitting it out and onto the table with a look of disgust before knocking the already opened can onto the floor where it clatters out of view.] SW: Pfeh, more Alpo. I was thinking of comparing you to these cans, Spector. Nothing too exciting to look out on the outside once the label is off, but kind of colorful on the inside. Mmmm, but you know, that's not a real apt depiction of you. On the one hand, you've been this incredibly successful athlete. You've been in some of the best organizations around. You've held titles, you say that fans hold you in high regard, that they say you're a legend. And you continue on amidst a flurry of sighs, smirks, and eye-rolling while saying that you're not a legend... Yet. And that you're not the greatest Cruiserweight... Yet. So is it just ennui for show, or are you actually bored with things? Bored with wrestling? Bored with life, even? [Sean pauses to toss his hair back once before giving off a rather unflattering sniffle.] SW: And on the other hand, you keep going on about how you haven't accomplished all your goals yet. And how you're to win this here tournament, and if you do, how it still won't be enough. Tell you what. Just go home. I'd obviously be much happier winning this tournament than you would. I mean, think about, this is a milkbone I could ride for quite a while. I could hold out in SCRA until I got a big fat raise. I mean, I started on there at their /minimum/ salary. And in this line of work, that's not a lot of money. And maybe... Somehow, I bet your integrity wouldn't let you do that, though. [Sean stands up, switching his chair around so he can sit in it bacwards, hands resting across the back.] SW: If we're going to have to grapple in the ring, I really do hope you get angry before our match. I want you to come in there with the idea of punishing me. Anger's great. It takes away someone's entire mental gameplan. [Sean gestures around his terribly unkempt kitchen with a sweep of one hand.] SW: You seem to forget that I have my own motivation. That I don't have your reputation. That I haven't won all those shiny title belts you've won. That people don't call me a legend, or one of the greatest wrestlers ever. The fact that I have none of those things _is_ my motivation. It keeps me hungry. It makes me win. All you have to do understand me is to look around at the way I live. Unless I like it here at the bottom, you can bet I'll try my damndest to win this match. And the fact that I've barely managed to survive in this tournament so far means something else. That I need to show it hasn't been a fluke that I've gotten this far. I need to win on my own merits. [Sean stands up, sliding the chair away from him as the camera closes in on his face. His pursed lips seem to indicate that he's rather unamused.] SW: I've heard what people have said about me. That I'm, quote, "Up and coming." [Stringy blonde hair falls over Watts' face as he shakes his head, lips curling into a derogatory sneer. Once again his hand reaches up to clear the hair from his face before he speaks with force and conviction.] SW: I've arrived. [Fade.] [It's a early April evening in Portland, Oregon. A lone figure is seen taking a jog in a small park near the IIWF Coliseum, which can be seen over the horizon. The figure stops and takes a brief refuge underneath a nearby oak tree. The figure is that of "Armitage" Steven Spector, who sits and faces the IIWF Coliseum.] SS: Three months ago if anyone woulda went backstage and told me I'd be wrestling in the IIWF Coliseum on their world-famous Saturday Night show, I'd look them in the eye and laugh. Funny how things work out, huh? Yea... since I've been back in the United States, some of my... well, faithful fans have been walking up to me and saying.. "Gee, Steve, what the hell are you doing on an IIWF show? Aren't you supposed to be... somewhere else?" The only response I'd give them is.. "What's it look like? I'm defying my own odds and attempting to win the King of the Cruisers tournament. It doesn't matter if you call this territory... the "enemy" territory.. as long as I've shown the same determination that I've had for two and a half years.. I'd win the entire thing." I'm halfway there already... and about to take the next step to my goal. [Spector smiles.] SS: "Iconoclast" Sean Watts... interesting nickname you have for yourself. A so-called destroyer of images... I ain't buying that. You've destroyed your own image of yourself by getting to the final four. I don't understand why your ring attire would say that you're a... "loser", when you've gotten this far. Unfortunately at Saturday Night, Watts.. I'm going to make you what you think you are... a loser. [Spector grins.] SS: Try to destroy the image of me winning the King of the Cruisers on Saturday Night.. Try to do what many other people have tried and stop me from reaching what I believe should be mine... It's not going to be easy for you... And I'll admit defending my own belief won't be easy for me. [Spector sighs.] SS: Yes, I've had my struggles so far in the tournament.. it should go with the territory.. the more you want something, the more other people will try and take it from you. Why should Saturday Night be any different? I'm thinking about why it should be different right now.. and personally.. it won't be any different. I'll win. [Spector grins.] SS: Sean Watts, I might not understand what you're all about, and don't fall into the trap of thinking you know everything about me. I was a "destroyer of images" long before you thought of "Iconoclast." I took on giants that thought they were invincible... I destroyed that... I took on pretty boys who thought as long as they had a pretty face they'd be on top of the world.. I crushed their face with my fist repeatedly... and there's the possibility that I'll have to do it again. [Spector grins.] SS: And I'm going to take on someone that.. pretends that they're a loser... I can't destroy that, to be honest, but I'll destroy what the nickname represents in my own mind. You can't destroy somebody that wants to win... See you in the ring. [Camera fades out.] ------------------------------------------------------------------------ IIWF Intercontinental Championship Tournament Semi-final Match: "Party Maniac" Marty Warnett vs. "Savage" Shadoe Rage ------------------------------------------------------------------------ LM: The other major tournament happening in the IIWF is also rapidly reaching its conclusion. Either one of these men could reasonably be thought of as a prime candidate for IIWF Intercontinental Champion. Which one will get the opportunity to fight for the belt against the winner of next week's Lebec/Turner match? AM: Aw, balls. Shadoe Rage is th' only one o' these four wankers tha' has th' jam t' hold tha' belt, but 'e's _still_ just another long-winded bore. He'll tear Turner's arms off an' feed them to 'im, aye. LM: How do you know that Turner will beat Lebec? AM: Wha'? Oh... weel, Lebec's had 'is sorry heed caved in by me cousin too many times fer 'im t' get through, e'en against tha' walkin' fruit stand Turner. LM: Both of the participants had comments for the cameras this week. [SCENE: A deserted office within IIWF Towers -- as the camera approaches the door, the sign "VP Ostertag" is clearly visible. From within, strange sounds are heard (not too uncommon an occurance for the location). Through the stained glass in the door, a few glimpses of light are shown. Tim Dross steps into view.] TD: I don't know. I was looking forward to a night out, what happens? No other interviewer available, they said. Not happy. Why didn't you tell me we were filming? You'd better edit this film. [Coughs] Hi folks, today we're scheduled to meet Marty Warnett in the conference room, but we'll just investigate this disturbance first... [Dross opens the door slowly, the door responding by creaking. ] TD: Okay, let's see.... Urgh! [Dross reacts to sight of blood and gore, soundtracked by screams... on the television in Osterhout's office. Sat lounging in a swivel chair is Marty Warnett, wearing a "Chris Who?" T-Shirt, one of the IIWF's best selling additions. He holds a controller in his hand, linked to a Sony Playstation.] MW: Sheesh, Dross, you never seen Resident Evil 2? TD: No, and I don't think we should film here... as a wrestling company, we're duty bound not to promote gore and violence. MW: Yeah, and Osterhout's urine tests found I was pregnant. I just thought it would be quite a... different interview for you. TD: I hate blood anyway. MW: Call it aversion therapy. Look, why don't you have a play? TD: I can't. MW: For me? TD: Well .. all right then. What do I do? [Marty passes Dross the controller. On screen, a zombie starts crawling towards Leon, much like Spreadbury at Madame Fifi's. In an instant, Leon fires off seven unanswered bullets, a pool of blood slowly dispersing under the zombie (ex-Zombie?)] MW: Sheesh, you pick up fast. TD: I panicked! [Meanwhile, Leon starts running on-screen. As he runs down the corridor... a barricade breaks and zombiefied arms grab him! ] TD: Argh! MW: Hey man, calm down, it's not real! TD: Maybe if I just, is that a key? MW: Yeah, you can unlock doors. So, Tim, what questions do you have for me? TD: Errr... in a minute, this looks a bit tricky, I see... maybe, YES! MW: Tim, may I take this moment in time to remind you that you're supposed to be interviewing me, y'know? It's kinda in your contract? TD: Hang on... I'll be with you soon. [Meanwhile, Leon enters a room... where four zombies are crouched on the floor eating the flesh of a recent ex-policeman.] TD: Urgh... this is disgusting. Take this, you, you, you nasty ex-persons. [Leon unveils the shotgun, blasting the life-challenged humanoids into non-existence (non-non-existence?)] MW: Tim. TD: Leave me alone. MW: Tim! TD: What ya want? MW: TIM!! TD: Go away, I'm busy. What the???? [The screen goes black as Marty, infuriated at not being able to grt his... comments... out, rips the plug out of the socket.] MW: Damn, I have something to say, that's why I'm being interviewed. TD: Okay, so... Cameraman: Sorry, out of tape. MW & TD: [in chorus] What?! [The screen fades to black.] [Fade in: Shadoe Rage and Marissa Monet dance around on a rotating stage as the camera focusses on their joy as they show the world how to "get jiggy with it." Shadoe is decked out in black leather jeans and a black leather car coat over a T-shirt and necklace of polished beads. He does the Bankhead Bounce as the bouncy "Been Around the World" remix plays in the background. Marissa wears a leather vest and hot pants both in black. She does a slinky little dance, displaying her extra long legs, the strong muscles of her arms and thighs and the gracefulness of her waist.] SR: Marissa, baby, what's my name? MM: Shadoe Rage. SR: Spell it backwards ... MM: It spells game. SR: Now I'm known for splitting wigs and getting inside brains. Marty Warnett, on you I'm going to reign. MM: [jumping behind her man] That's no lie. SR: [serious now] You may have walked into this tournament as the number one seed, but we always see a lot of upsets in the game. And if anybody is going to create a miracle and walk away from this match with a victory it's the Black Jesus of the IIWF. Shadoe Rage, the king of this ring. The king of everything. MM: Let's all sing. SR: And Warnett, you're in a lucky position. I don't hate you for anything. I don't have any animosity towards you. I'm not trying to hurt you. I'm not trying to end your career. But that doesn't mean I'm not going to be focussed on finding ways to defeat you. Understand the motivation behind this little "match" of ours. you are undeniably one of the established "stars" of the IIWF. You're one of that old guard that gets recognised as being one of the best. I'm going to top you for one reason. I have to. This is my time. And the spotlight is mine. There hasn't been a soul in the IIWF who has made more of what they've been given than I. The King of Snow Brawl. I bet nobody knew what it would lead to. I bet nobody realised it would create the "Black Jesus", but it did. And I'm going to prove once again that I'm your superior in every way shape or form. And all your partying, all those crazy little Welsh jigs you like, your Discordiacs, hell, even Simon Lebec who I'm sure will make an appearance anticipating taking you out of the final matchup or making the match with you. I don't know. I don't particularly care. Because just as you saw with Tragedy's pathetic attempt at getting a disqualification win, I crumble all your plots and plans. The Black Jesus is for real. And let's see you dance a jig when I ruin your career, Warnett, and stomp all over your dreams. MM: That's kind of a party killer. SR: [smirking, arms folded over his chest] That's exactly what I am. Turn out the lights. [Rage snaps his fingers and the musical track and the lights cut out.] SR: The Party's over. [Fade out] ------------------------------------------------------------------------ IIWF Cruiserweight Championship Match: Icehawk vs. Harlequin Tragedy ------------------------------------------------------------------------ LM: Icehawk continues to put the belt on the line as he goes up against Tragedy. Whichever man wins this match, we are in for an incredible display of scientific expertise! AM: Finland. There's a half-decent country. I met this bloke back in Japan... 'e was from Finland. Big bastard. 'E absolutely _hated_ Americans an' just aboot everyone else. I liked 'im. LM: But what about the match? AM: Wha' aboot it? Icehawk squashes Tragedy. Who gives a toss aboot some washed oop Siouxsie Sioux clone? Wot a terrible waste o' energy. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ IIWF WORLD TAG TEAM CHAMPIONSHIP MATCH: Team Sychosys vs. The Harlequins ------------------------------------------------------------------------ LM: And the championship action continues tomorrow night as Team Sychosys put their IIWF World Tag Team straps on the line against the Harlequins. AM: Och, a bleedin' waste o' time, wha'. Neither o' these teams deserve t'be within a mile o' those straps, Morton. LM: Maurice McArthur is back by Joe Petrow's side this week after Petrow's impressive match against Steve Kowalski last Saturday Night -- and both teams have comments for tomorrow night's match: [A simple door in a simple room. The door is opened by "Sychosys" Joe Petrow, who peeks inside briefly to speak.] JP: Saturday Night! Harlequins...we're gonna win! [Petrow closes the door behind him. Fade out.] [The scene looks into a small bedroom. In a small bed in the corner sleeps a woman, her back is turned to us.] BOOM! BOOM! BOOM! [The woman tosses and turns a bit.] BOOM! BOOM! BOOM! [She then grabs a pillow and holds it on top of her head.] BOOM! BOOM! BOOM! [Finally the woman sits up. It is Melody, dressed only in an extra large T-shirt. She gets out of bed and heads out of the room.] MELODY: It's 6 am. Who's knocking at this time? BOOM! BOOM! BOOM! MELODY: I'M COMING! [Melody leaves her bedroom and walks through the living room of her apartment. She approaches the door and looks through the peephole.] MELODY: You gotta be kidding me! [Melody opens the door, to find standing in the hallway, Chaos and Terror. Both are in their wrestling gear.] CHAOS: hI mEl. TERROR: We have to talk. MELODY: What are you two doing here? [The Harlequins enter the apartment.] CHAOS: GOt anYTHing tO EAt? MELODY: Now wait a second... [Terror leaps onto the couch and starts bouncing up and down as Chaos goes through the fridge.] MELODY: Hey! Stop that! That's an old cou... CHAOS: COOl! shE'S Got WHIppersnAPPle! MELODY: Will you get out of my... [Chaos grabs a couple of bottles from the fridge and starts going through the cupboards. Terror stands up on the coffee table and starts messing with the light fixture.] MELODY: Will you get down! [looks to Chaos.] Chris! Get out of my kitchen! TERROR: Lights out! [Terror starts to unscrew a light bulb.] MELODY: I know, the bulb's burned out! Now sit down and... CHAOS: chEEZ-it'S! TERROR: It might not be the bulb. Maybe you have a short. CHAOS: GoT ANy frUIt? MELODY: For the last time, get out of my kitch... Terry! What are you... [Terror sticks his finger in the light socket and in a flash is sent back flying into the wall and down onto the couch. Chaos peeks around the corner with an apple in his mouth and a few bags of chips and crackers in his arms as Melody has a look of horror on her face. Terror shakes his head weariy and looks at the two.] TERROR: It's the bulb. MELODY: That does it! [Melody grabs Chaos by the ear and drags him into the living room. She sits him down next to the stunned Terror.] MELODY: Will someone tell me what the hell the two of you are doing in my apartment at six o'clock on a Friday morning? CHAOS: Ee nee a ha. MELODY: What? CHAOS: Ee nee a ha. [Melody yanks the apple from Chaos' mouth.] CHAOS: OW! wE NEed a pLAn. MELODY: A plan? You came to me for a plan? TERROR: You're our manager. CHAOS: YEah mEl. MELODY: Why me? hy not your brother? CHAOS: TErry's aFRAid to gO baCK To slEEpy HollOW. SOMething abOUT a gUY on A HOrse. TERROR: The man had no head! MELODY: Okay, Okay, you want a plan, I'll make up a plan. TERROR: Told ya. MELODY: But you two are going to clean up this place first. CHAOS: Awwww! TERROR: No way! MELODY: Yes way. If two grown men are going to be banging on my door at six in the morning, I'm putting them to work. CHAOS: [whispering] Bet we're not the first guys to hear that. MELODY: Watch it buddy! [Chaos snaps to attention.] MELODY: Chris you clean the kitchen, Terry, you clean the bathroom. When you're done with that you can dust and do laundry. Got it? [Both men are silent.] MELODY: GOT IT? BOTH: Yes Mel. MELODY: Good. And maybe by the time your done I'll have thought of something. [Fade out.] ------------------------------------------------------------------------ "Vagabond" Chris Staley vs. Jimmy "Meatman" Steele ------------------------------------------------------------------------ LM: The question in this match is...will Staley show up? He has claimed he won't fight anybody until he gets Annis and Deathbringer. AM: Bleedin' impetuous rookies. Who does this tosser think 'e is? Every bloody day when I started oot, those frickin' Jap promoters put me under a mask an' told me t' make their top "talent" look guid. Sweet Jaysis, now this wee lad wants t' call 'is own shots? It's crap, Morton. LM: I think there are many veterans of the wrestling business who would agree with that sentiment. Who is going to come out on top in this one? AM: Piece o' cake. Vatharius th' Mad. Who cannae smell this one comin' from a mile away, hmm? LM: Let's hear from the Meatman. [Close up of wrestling boot. Comes down hard on the mat Crane up body to massive arms. One fist slams into open palm Crane up to the Meatman.] JS: I came here to take on the biggest slabs o' meat the IIWF could put on my plate, and ever one of them, I took down to the bone. Ain't no man in the IIWF can beat me one on one. Kowalski, Rage, Gaines -- all needed help in order to defeat the Meat. They all ordered up a generous "side portion a'helpin's" and I bet they had a little spell of relief when they saw the other man hit me or help 'em out. "Now, the Meatman can't hurt me no more." Ain't one of you MAN ENOUGH TA MEET DA MEAT? Now, I got Staley. Staley, I aint lookin' past ya. I'm too young at this game ta ever do that. But I got one thing you ain't got. I got fans. And this one, I'm gonna win fer all my little cutlets. You wait. Mostly, I wanna talk to this Manimal. He took me up on the up and comin' Meatman Challenge. Valth... Valthrus... Valthalisbury -- I don't know. Numbero One-o. You got help, too. This K-guy. K-Ration. Well, I guess he'll be kickin' me in the head while I'm punchin' yer teeth out. I expect it. But, when I face you in the Meatman Challenge. It's you and me. I'm gonna look you in the eye and see if you got more'n I got. No K-Ration, nobody but you and "Da Meat" If yer an animal like I hear, than I can hunt ya, trap ya, skin ya, slice ya, hit ya wit' my Meat Hook, sautee an' fricasee ya....but I 'll do it in cold blood wit' no generous "helpins" on the side. Cuz I'm a MAN and a WRASSLER. Not a butcher. Waitaminnit. I _am_ a butcher. [Fade] ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Robert d'Artois & Reiner Ver Magnusson vs. the Benjamins ------------------------------------------------------------------------ LM: This match is about the two Europeans being unwilling to accept the fact that they lost to the Benjamins. After Wednesday they are 0 and 3 and they seem to think they should be in line for a title shot! AM: 0 and 3! Th' second most important streak in wrestlin'! Listen, Morton, Stella d'Artois an 'is wee pal Heiney... LM: That's "Reiner". AM: Whatever. These losers cannae have a title shot until Th' Black Watch _says_ so. We run th' tag scene. They're just... too... WEEEEEEEAK! LM: But can they beat The Benjamins? AM: Hell, th' Proclaimers could beat Th' Benjamins. Sae why not th' Eurotrash? Maybe if we're all lucky, th' ring will open oop an' swallow them whole. Then we can see some REAL wrestlin'. LM: Let's hear from both teams. [Robert d'Artois is standing in what seems to be a training center. In the background, we see Reiner Ver Magnusson lifting what seems to be really heavy weights. He does that with a relative ease. d'Artois smiles and then adress the IIWF cameras.] RdA: Benjamins... Benjamins... Benjamins... Finally, we got our wish. Finally, the IIWF administration accepted to sign the match. I won't say a rematch, because I'm sure we all know it's not the case. The first match didn't count. We didn't lose... Even if the win/loss records are saying so... We didn't lose because you simply can't beat us. There's no need to look further than that. You know why? Because nobody in this organization can cleanly beat us. Nobody. Not the Harlequins, not the Black Watch, not the Prophets of Rage, not the Down Boys, not Team Sychosys, not you. Saying that we are unbeatable isn't pretentiousness. IT'S REALISM! [d'Artois puts himself on the right side of the screen, so you can clearly see Reiner Ver Magnusson training.] RdA: Look at that man. Look at his physique. He is without any doubt the World's Strongest man. How could a man of his physical capacities and wrestling talent could fear anyone in this organization? There's absolutely no way... He is simply better. [d'Artois then returns to his original position.] RdA: Then look at me, look at my matches, look at my charisma, my talent, my vast abilities... Ain't I the greatest wrestler to ever come to the IIWF? The answer is, without any doubt : YES. I'm the greatest. Before me, the IIWF was just another organization... But since Reiner and myself have joined, the IIWF became _THE_ federation. But back to the Benjamins. You see, Benjamins, the World's Strongest man, the IIWF's greatest wrestlers, making together a TAG TEAM OF EPIC PROPORTIONS... Do you think you have what it takes to overcome the challenge? Do you think that you are good enough? I'd guess you would answer yes to these questions... But deep donwn in your heart, I'm sure that you know and that you understand your mediocrity. That false confidence is just a way to overcome your fear... Sure, it might work before the match, but when you'll step in the ring with us, you'll be stroke by the hard reality... You'll come back from your world of illusions to accept the well known fact that Magnusson and myself simply CAN'T BE BEAT. That's a fact of life. The sky is blue. There's days and nights. Robert d'Artois and Reiner Ver Magnusson are unbeatable. Facts of life. Simply... [d'Artois smiles and Reiner Ver Magnusson approaches the cameras, having finished his training session.] RdA: Benjamins, you have put yourselves in a very compromising position. You have two choices: one, you flee from the ring, you get out of the arena, and you return, volunteerely, to wrestling obscurity where you belong; or two, you wrestle the match and you get beat in mere seconds. That's the choices that you have, and that's what will happen this weekend at Saturday Night. RVM: And once again, the IIWF audience will be greated with our great ring presence. This Saturday Night, two IIWF legends will step in the ring against the Benjamins... This Saturday Night, the two Gods of Wrestling will beat the Benjamins. RdA: We are the only talent of this organization, and for that, none of the pathetic wrestlers of this organization can beat, humiliate or pin us!!! RVM: We are born winners! [They leave the camera's view and the screen slowly fades to black.] [Camera opens on Bobby and Joe Benjamin standing in an area of a busy shopping mall. They are amongst a large and growing throng of people, signing their autographs to whoever wants one. These fans, while predominantly young males and females, encompass all sections of society, with many from an older generation also seeking the autographs of the brothers. The camera struggles its way through the crowd, finally getting the attention of the two, both scribbling on pieces of paper at a fast-paced rate] JB: Hey! Hi! [Waves to camera] Sorry guys, when we told you to meet us here in our hometown, we didn't think that we'd be noticed... BB: Guess we were wrong! [benjismile] Sorry, [to a fan] what was that? To Melissa? Yeah, sure... here ya go! [hands a pen and a piece of paper back to the fan] JB: [To the camera] But this is what its all about, right? You've gotta do this sorta thing so that the fans know that they're appreciated -- if ya don't, people might just start turnin' away from ya. BB: [To his brother] Not really, bro. I mean, in the Double-Eye, it seems that you don't have to be nice or even anywhere near polite to be popular. But, y'know, that's the way WE do it. [To the camera] We aren't hostile and mean like some other IIWF superstars. We always play fair in the ring and we like hanging out with our fans -- [shakes his head] it ain't a show! JB: [To a fan] To the Double-Eye's number one fan, Jeremy Morgan? Got it. Thanks a lot! [Hands an autograph book back to the fan, then returns to the camera] But just because we're nice guys doesn't mean that we don't get angry. One team that's really ticking us off is those European guys, Magnusson and d'Artois. [Returns to a fan] BB: [Finishes an autograph and returns to camera] They're two guys who've really gotta get back down to Earth, and fast. I don't know if we're the guys to do it, but we're gonna damn well try. We beat them once, we can do it again. JB: It's gonna be for all those great champions of the past... Rising Sun Revolution, High Plains Drifters... all of the greats. We watched teams like them for the past few years, and now that we're in the Double Eye, we know that we've gotta keep up with the standards they set. For d'Artois and Magnusson to come in, lose a coupla matches and then say that they're bringing new 'standards of excellence' to this federation is just an insult to those guys. BB: [To a fan] Steve Kowalski fears me? Hmm... If you want, but don't let him hear you say that! [signs the autograph book and returns it with a benjismile before returning his attention to the camera] We've got the underdog tags, no doubt about it, but we're gonna be goin' into the match with one of the greatest weapons that we've got... our hearts. We're damn proud of this federation, and two big-mouths aren't gonna bring it down. [Returns to a fan] JB: [To a fan] Sorry dude, [shaking his head] no can do. I think Comedy and Melody are already taken... [Back to camera] d'Artois, Magnusson... You're insultin' the Double-Eye, and you're insultin' the best in American wrestlin'. We can't let stuff like that go. BB: Like I've said before, we're doin' this because the greatest wrestling promotion on the planet gave two young kids the chance to hit it in the big time. We're really grateful, and we're lookin' to do what we can to keep its good name. If that means taking on you guys again so soon, that's just the way it goes. Win or lose, we're gainin' somethin' -- it ain't gonna be a put down for us if we lose, but we're gonna give it all we got, and [said louder, so most of the crowd can hear] with fans like this behind us [motions to the ever-increasing mass], we just can't lose! [benjismile as the crowd pops for itself!] JB: D'Artois, Magnusson -- I don't care how many more matches you've had then me, the number of wins you've got... To me, that's nothing. All I see are two arrogant guys who think too much of themselves. I may not be the greatest wrestler in the world... [and, said with a benjismile, added quickly] yet, but I'm tryin', and we're gonna see how far I've come in the past few weeks on Saturday. [Returns to a fan] BB: [Again, in a louder voice] My advice to everybody, keep it locked to the Double-Eye on TV, 'cozzz... [pause for the audience gathered] CROWD: [Cut to a wide angle shot from above of the crowd] IT'S ALL ABOUT THE BENJAMINS, BABY!! [Camera fades out] ________ ______ | || |\ \ /\ / /| __|.................................................. | || | \ v v / | __| Trash Talk |_||_| \_/\_/ |_|.................................................... LM: There is a whole slew of other IIWF wrestlers who had comments for this week's show, starting with the least sane... ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Valtharius the Mad ------------------------------------------------------------------------ [Karachel sits within a large pentagram. Purplish flame belches from the sconces on the wall with every chant finished by Karachel. The ever present black-oily mist hangs heavy in the air and gibbers and moans in hellish fury. A Karachellian Cultist sits on a black leather couch across the room with a bloodied bandage around his neck. It is the former high priest. He wears a cold expression on his face as he watches Karachel. Another Cultist sits upon the cold stone floor holding an ancient book and has a maniacal grin lighting up his demonic face. This is the Bearer of the Tome. A third Karachellian Cultist is sitting upon a wooden chair. She is the Scryer of the Cult, her twisted face showing the excitement for the times ahead of causing pain in the upcoming weeks. Valtharius sits quietly in his own excretement in a corner of the room chewing on a dead weasel carcass, enjoying the taste and oblivious to anything going on around him] K: My Children... you are summoned before me to have the Blessings of Darkness bestowed upon Valtharius for the upcoming weeks events..... He shall fight with a strong heart and with my devious mind Valtharius will overcome all those who stand against the Legion of the Apocalypse.... [Karachel raises his hands and the purplish flame belches from the wall... He begins to chant...] K: Valtharius, raise your arms! [Valtharius raises both his arms as the dead weasel hangs from his enormous maw as Karachel pulls from within his black robes with a small brush and an ink well full of blood] VTM: ME EATING!!! [Karachel suddenly reaches out and grasps the skull of Valtharius and pulls him into the pentagram with inhuman strength. A purplish electricity emanates from Karachel hand and surrounds the two of them. Karachel begins howling an evil incantation as he inscribes a skull within the vines that are tattooed about his slaves body. The vines seem to writhe and the skulls pulsate with a life their own] K: Cold sin and fire! Burning wrath and anger! Those that oppose you shall be placed in the crippled splendor of lust as you so dire! Insane visions of beauty! Groanings so empty! Your opponents shall be wriggling in agony, their frail corpse of death to be! Hair and eyes, limbs and faces, bending hard in your fierce embraces! Oh your loveless rage, give them pain! Give them pain! Arcane Exotica! Oh Grim Luxuria! Valtharius shall prevail above all those that oppose his might! Embrace the Power and walk down the Pathes of Darkness! [Karachel pushes Valtharius from the pentagram with the same inhuman strength... the purple electricity surrounding them disappears. Valtharius shakes his head allowing the incantation to sink in. He leans down and removes the weasel from his mouth and smiles. Karachel goes into a deep trance as the scene of an old clock appears and the hands rotate showing three hours have passed] K: Valtharius! Once again step forward and join with me in the embrace of our Dark Lord! VTM: NO!!! ME HUNGRY NOW MASTER!!! VALTHARIUS WANT EAT GOAT!!! [Karachel stands up within the pentagram and approaches the edge of it and without hesitation grabs the skull of the Mad Italian and drags him into the pentagram effortlessly... a reddish-blue electricity surrounds them both as Karachel wails the incantation like a banshee... Again Karachel inscribes a skull within the vines that are tattooed about Valtharius's body. The vines seem to writhe and the skulls pulsate with a life their own] K: Valtharius! You are the twisted lust of Hellfire! You shall love the bastard liar! Your actions shall speak of sick grins of pleasure! Warped torsos in heaven! Bending tongues! Saliva, licking life forms of the grotesque! On the floor shall the bones of your opponents be cracking! Like evil dogs mauling innocent children before them! Grunting in this ecstasy your opponents shall be shaking, screaming and crawling before your evil might! Pleading eyes and mangled faces, torn apart in growling places shall be your reward as they succumb to the weakness that is theirs! Oh, your seething rage! Hot white in intensity! Give them pain! Arcane Exotica! Oh Grim Luxuria! Valtharius shall prevail above all those that oppose his might! Oh sweet sanctity as Hell is pouring over you! Come! Once again walk down the Pathes of Darkness! [Karachel thrusts Valtharius to the ground outside the pentagram. Valtharius grabs his head... filled with the wretched power of evil he smiles slightly and gives chase to the goat in the corner of the room. Karachel goes back into a deep trance as the scene of an old clock again appears and the hands rotate showing three more hours have passed] K: Valtharius! Approach again and allow the Dark Lord to see into your jaded soul.... VTM: NOPEY!!! ME TIRED OF MASTER WRITING STOO-PID WORDS ON VALTHARIUS!!! GOAT GO AWAY AND ME VALTHARIUS WANT TO FIND IT! [Karachel stands in disgust from his spot in the pentagram and approaches the lumbering form Valtharius slowly. Once more Karachel reaches out and grabs his skull. Valtharius’s eyes roll back into his head as he is drawn into pentagram by the sheer power of evil that Karachel wields. A glowing gray nimbus flows from Karachel’s hand and covers Valtharius’s body as a black oily mist begins filing the room. It gibbers and moans in hellish delight as Karachel inscribes upon Valtharius's body once more] K: Here you stand Valtharius... before your Dark Lord.... gibbering alone... Seeing the earth and the heavens, they tire you so... tomorrow’s dreams encased in a velvet sanctuary. The crumbled throne of worldly gain that your IIWF opponents desire... theirs is a glory forgotten... and now... nothing remains! Death is death, to the little opponents that squirm before your might! Valtharius! Smell the darkness of your soul! Your coffins closed! [Karachel whispers softly in Valtharius's ear] Your coffins touch... so soft... oh, so soft.... no movement... no breath... no ears... no nose... no eyes. Death is death, in life’s sepulcher.... no sight.... no sound... no cry... and always... always... death is death, [Screams at the top of his lungs] YES!!! ALIVE AGAIN! ALIVE IN THE DARKNESS THAT HAS CAUSED YOU TO BE REBORN!!! Valtharius! Your opponent’s damp skin shall lay within in graying sheets.... their decaying bed absorbing them... bleached white bones that sit still with dehydrating visions of love and goodness! Give them pain! Arcane Exotica! Oh Grim Luxuria! Valtharius shall prevail above all those that oppose his might! Oh sweet sanctity as Hell is pouring over you! Come my pet! Walk down the Pathes of Darkness and embrace the power to destroy thine enemies! [Karachel pushes Valtharius from the pentagram... the gray nimbus slowly subsides... Valtharius slumps to the ground for a second then goes over to the corner of the room and sits... a look of contemplation weighs heavy upon his face as the clock moves ever forward another three hours. Karachel points at Valtharius, who is munching on yet another dead weasel carcass] K: Valtharius... approach your Dark Master for the last time.... [Valtharius the Mad stands and approaches his Master] VTM: ME BUSY!! ME VALTHARIUS WANT CHEW ON WEASEL!!! ME NOT WANT BE IN STOO-PID CIRCLE THINGY NO MORE!!! K: QUIET, YOU OAF!!! VTM: ME NOT OAF!!! ME VALTHARIUS!!! [Karachel hand reaches like a cat struck by lightning and grabs Valtharius by the skull and pulls his lumbering form into the pentagram for the fourth time. Valtharius’s eyes roll back in to his head as he is forced to his knees. The tattoo vines upon his body begin to glow a pale red and it seems for a second that they are flowing with blood... into the skulls that adorn Valtharius’s body. The skulls suddenly begin pulsating a blood red as Karachel chants once more and inscribes some insidious runes upon the Mad One's body] K: Oh Valtharius.... Make the ones that face your might weep for winter skies shrouded in misty air! Make them weep for their solemn dearth! Make the wasted lives that President Spreadbury places before you weep for their chill despair! Their bodies shall be the ashes you leave behind as their souls descend from this earth in to the fiery bowels of Hell! No longer will they be imprisoned by the weakness of their flesh! All those that come before us shall be wishing that the sun would shine upon their wasting flesh as they dream the dreams of the life they once had! Their flesh... no longer a prison of burning life.... it shall fade on the outside. Valtharius, once you are done with the one called Steele, he will only want to believe that there is a place better for him... a union where lost souls meet... where he can share this flame of life with others... BUT!!! There is not such a place... only Darkness! As for the one they call Vagabond, he will attempt to hide and reach beyond the entropy he has fallen into. Valtharius, in all that you seek you shall cause him to burn hotter than he has ever burned before! Give them pain! Arcane Exotica! Oh Grim Luxuria! Valtharius shall prevail above all those that oppose his might! Oh sweet sanctity as Hell is pouring over you! Come! Walk down the Pathes of Darkness and embrace the evil that shall allow to prevail over the forces of good!!! [With the final words spoken Valtharius is lifted from his knees by Karachel’s unholy strength and is literally thrown from the pentagram. Valtharius shakes the cobwebs from his head as the Karachellian Cultists look on in disbelief that Karachel has thrown the Mad Italian out of the pentagram so easily. The red glowing of the skulls slowly fades back into the black that they originally were. Karachel stands and raises his hands and suddenly the pentagram disappears. He walks towards the camera as the black oily mist gibbers and moan about his dark cloak...] K: Steele... Staley.... Natural Predators... and the rest of the IIWF maggots that crawl upon Spreadbury’s dinner plate... you will bow down before the Legion of the Apocalypse or your bones will be ground to dust!!! Mark my words! The Legion of the Apocalypse is upon you all... Armageddon is at hand to those that stand in our path! A this path is one that we have walked for so many years and is strewn with the bones and carcasses of our victims..... Who shall be the next to fall to our Dark Lord as a sacrifice? [The black oily mist covers Karachel as his demonic laughter is heard fading off as if in a huge cavern... fade to black] ------------------------------------------------------------------------ American Dragons ------------------------------------------------------------------------ [We open on an empty set. It's the IIWF interview area...normally home to Monday Musings, but occassionally, a Countdown interview gets done here. The scene stays empty and silent for about ten seconds, until a voice-off camera speaks] Cameraman: Where are they? Audio Guy: I don't know. They're usually the only guys who show up on time and don't trash the set. CM: Think something's wrong? AG: Who knows? They did look pretty pissed Saturday night... [From off-camera, we hear the sound of a door crashing open. Just as that sound fades, we hear the sound of a door slamming shut. Exit Joe Scalercio from stage left. He has a chair in his hand, and unfolds it before slamming it down. He turns it around, and sits down, leaning over the back, looking into the camera. Joe is wearing his black leather jacket and blue jeans, and he stares into the camera, his brown eyes piercing the lens.] JS: Forgive me for the Machine-like entrance. It's just been a heck of a week. There is no need to recap Monday. Needless to say, the front office has stood ye their decision. Now, me and Bob think it can be safely said the brass in the front office look for longtime service. How else could the Prophets of Rage be #1 contenders...after LOSING a match, I might add. How else could the Harlequins be getting a tag team title shot, when the last match they wrestled was against those huggable, loveable companions Wong and O'Neil...two guys who are ranked higher then the painted freak Harlequins, I might add. I could easily sit here and complain all day...but that's not the style of the American Dragons. At pretty much every turn, we've been beaten back by the "old-boy" network of the IIWF. We kept calling out Team Sychosys during their "Funky Like A Monkey" tour...yet they never responded. Me and Bob are very unhappy...and we plan to do something about it. A major part of that plan is going to be the total annihilation of Blazer and Garcia, those two idiot cops. You want to talk about the old-school teams...why did THEY get a match with the Predators before us, when WE'VE been asking for one? IIWF, listen up. Youth will be served...starting May 17th at Birthday Bash. The American Dragons are in the IIWF for one reason only...the IIWF World Tag Team belts. If we have to pry them from the cold dead hands of the Harlequins, the clutches of Team Sychosys, if we have to beat down those two Scottish cross-dressers, if it means giving the Prophets of Rage the ass kicking they deserve...so be it. We ain't in this for second place, boys and girls. Before we go about kicking every team here around...we plan on giving the world a free show. A chance to show everyone what youth gone wild can do. Joe and Bobby Benjamin... [Scalercio reaches into his inner jacket lining and removes a contract] JS: ...together, the Benjamins and the American Dragons make up the future of tag team wrestling. We're "the young guns of the tag division," to quote Eddy Jacks, while you're the continutation of a fine tradition. Let's say we show the brass just what we have to offer. IIWF Saturday Night, May 9th. American Dragons vs. The Benjamins. No grudges, no hatred...just tag team wrestling at it's finest, WITHOUT the garbage from the Night Patrol or the Euro-Elite. Youth WILL be served, ladies and gentlemen. Any team, any time... [Joe stands up quickly, laying the contract on the chair] JS: Now, I've got some training to do. Some of us actually have to wrestle to get ahead around here. [All we catch is a quick glimpse of the green dragon as Joe walks off camera. Fade.] ------------------------------------------------------------------------ The Black Watch ------------------------------------------------------------------------ [SCENE: The inside of the Boar and Thistle Tavern on SW Front Street in downtown Portland. The picture appears to be from a small, handheld camera, and the shot jiggles as an unseen cameraman attempts to set up a shot. The camera jerks around, showing the dimly-lit interior of the pub with a distracting green REC light in the corner of the frame. The Boar and Thistle appears to be closed for the night, as the chairs are all up on the tabletops, and the shot eventually settles on the two members of the Black Watch, Andrew and Duncan Macbeth, seated on stools in front of the long oak bar. Duncan is decked out in jeans and a Team Scotland rugby shirt, holding a half-finished pint of McEwan's on his knee, while Andrew is wearing a thick cream turtleneck underneath a brown tweed sport coat. Behind them, at least eighteen empty pint glasses rest on the bar, the remnants of what appears to be a serious night of drinking for the two cousins, and Duncan wobbles slightly as he lifts the beer to his lips. Both men seem quite morose, as if a great tragedy has suddenly befallen them. From out of frame, we hear the voice of Hugh, the Boar and Thistle's proprietor.] H: Orrigh', lads, I've got th' bastard set up. Say yuir peace, an' then [BLEEP] off oot o' 'ere, will yis? Me wife's waitin', wha'! DM: Okay, Hugh. This should no' take long. [Duncan looks at the camera, then pauses, looking to the floor.] Andy... ye want t' start? Please? I'm... I'm no sure I'm up t' it. [Duncan looks across to Andrew, and heaves a nervous sigh. The huge Scot meets his younger cousin's glance with a furtive look of his own, then reaches behind the bar and produces an open bottle of Highland Park single malt. Andrew takes a considerable swig, then sets the bottle on his knee and slowly raises his gaze to the camera.] AM: Righ'... listen, we jus' wanted t' take some time t' say somethin' t' Mr. Gunnar Gaines an' Mr. Caleb Temple. We would hae done this in th' studio at th' Coliseum, mind, but... but... [Andrew sighs, and shakes his head.] Weal, we didn't want t' take th' chance tha' Mr. Gaines or Mr. Temple might be there. Y'see, sirs, we... we want t' say... tha' we're sorry. [Andrew appears to falter, his eyes glancing uneasily around the pub, and Duncan jumps in, his words coming out in a nervous, slurred torrent.] DM: 'Tis okay, Andy, 'tis okay! They're reasonable men, they'll understan'! Y'see, fellas, we... we jus' didn't realise how BIG yis are, an' how STRONG yis are, an' how, how MEAN an' how SMART... we thought we'd be dealin' wi' all th' other tosspot tag teams in th' IIWF when we interfered in yuir match! We didn't ken tha' yis really, really, really, really... oh... tha' yis really WERE th' baddest thangs... things? thangs... runnin'! Now yis're all upset, 'cause we cost yis th' tag titles, an' ye should be upset! I mean, yis worked sae hard t' get yuir shot, climbin' all those steps up t' Spreadbury's office an' wavin' yuir resumes in 'is face! Yis've got a RIGHT t' be upset, goddammit! Now yis're makin' all these threats, about how we're sae stupid, an' how we can't wrestle, an' how we talk funny, an' how we're scared o' yis, an' how yis're goin' t' beat us like dogs at Birthday Bash! Like dogs... dyin' in th' street... oh hell... [Duncan's jade eyes grow wide, and tears seem to brim at their edges before he suddenly turns his head away from the camera, holding his hand in front of his face.] DM: An' th' thing is, sirs... th' thing is, wha' yis've been sayin'... is TRUE. [Duncan turns to Andrew and shakes his head morosely, indicating that he can't go on. Andrew rubs his eyes, and looks up to the camera, picking up where Duncan left off, as the younger Macbeth drains his pint and makes a grab for Andrew's Scotch.] AM: Mr. Gaines, Mr. Temple, me cousin an' I were thinkin' about it, an' yis're absolutely righ'. There NO way we can beat yis. I mean, all th' things ye've been sayin' t' us have got us sae... aw Jaysis, how th' hell can we step in a wrestlin' ring wi' th' likes o' yis two? Yis say such mean things t' us... it makes us feel bad when yis make fun o' th' way we talk, an' when ye say tha' a man like me cousin, who's held an IIWF singles title an' has beaten some o' the greatest technical wrestlers in th' game, isn't a guid wrestler. Ye've destroyed th' boy's self-confidence completely, do yis no' ken? [Cut back to Duncan, who is gulping down Scotch like it was water behind Andrew. Andrew looks on at his cousin with a pitying look, then turns back to the camera.] An' weal, Mr. Gaines, ye're sae big an' strong, an' Mr. Temple, ye've got all those tattoos... I remember when I saw "Cape Fear" an' it scared th' livin' shite out o' me, but De Niro wasn't half as frightenin' as ye, Mr. Temple. O'course, Robert Mitchum was scarier than both o' yis put together, but... [Duncan suddenly leans into the shot, whisky dribbling from his chin.] DM: I DON'T WANT T' SPIN TH' WHEEL! [BLEEP] TH' DEAL, YIS BASTARDS! Ah, Christ, I've soiled meself... [Duncan topples off the stool, but to his credit, quickly climbs back on, muttering "I'm all righ'... I'm all righ..." as he totters on his perch, looking around for the Scotch bottle again as Andrew wipes sweat from his brow and continues in his cousin's stead.] AM: Jus' look at th' state yis've got 'im in. He's scared t' death o' gettin' in th' ring with yis, gentlemen. He beat Otto Verhoeven, he took J.W. Hardin t' th' limit, he defeated Chris Quigley a whole pile o' times, but never in me life did 'e ever show fear. No' until NOW. [Andrew sighs, shaking his head.] An'... 'e's no' th' only one who's scared. I'm sorry, I've been ramblin' on 'ere, haven't I? I'm sorry... I ken yis don't care fer me runnin' on, 'cause I've got this accent tha' shows how obviously ignorant an' talentless I am. I'm glad yis've found someone who can translate me humble words fer yis, 'cause I ken I'm hard t' understan'. I jus' hope tha' yuir kilted friend doesn't want t' hurt me an' Duncan too -- we ken we're no' as guid as yis two, an' tha yis can kick our ignorant, talentless arses all by yiurselves. I mean, if there's three o' yis after us, Duncan jus' might have an aneurysm, aye. [Duncan opens his mouth and lets loose with a belch... you know what kind -- a MACBETH belch.] DM: Sae look, yis two, 'ere's wha' we want t' ask yis... is there any way, any way at all, tha' we can get out o' this match at Birthday Bash? Please? You don't think we can beat yis... an' neither do we. Yis're too guid fer us. Yis talk tougher than us. Yis have... [Duncan looks across to Andrew, who is biting his lip, a strange expression on his face.] Yis have... [Andrew lets a tiny snort escape his lips, which he is trying desperately to keep shut.] Yis... [Andrew starts giggling, and Duncan struggles to keep his composure as he keeps his eyes locked on the camera, but his formerly fervent, nervous gaze is now dancing with mirth.] Y...aw, I cannae DO IT! HAR HAR HAR HAR! YE BASTARD, ANDY! [The Macbeths explode in a rousing bout of laughter, joined by Hugh, who is holding his sides. Duncan topples from the stool again, not from the drink, but from the peals of laughter rocking his body.] AM: Ah, tha' was bleedin' magic, cuz! Yis looked like ye'd really wet yuirself! DM: Ye're sae big... ye're sae strong... ye're sae mean... ah, Christ, I can't catch me breath! AM: [BLEEP] th' deal! Magic! [Hugh wipes tears from his eyes as he steps out of frame and moves behind the camera again.] H: Orrigh', yis've had yuir fun. Now get out, will yis? [The picture begins to fade in the cheesy way that hand-helds do, showing Andrew and Duncan Macbeth still roaring with laughter at the bar.] DM: Hey... isn't this where th' tired catch-phrase goes? DM & AM: BWAH HAH HAH HAH HAH HAH HAH HAH HAH HAH! AM: Beat THIS, tossers... [Fade.] ------------------------------------------------------------------------ The Fabulous Ones ------------------------------------------------------------------------ ----------NAGOYA SUN---------- G1: Sports section IIWF’s tag team scene and the Machines by Hirohashi Honda It’s been quite a while since I last reported on the IIWF tag team scene. Since then, the Fabulous Ones have dominated the ranks, with a few questionable losses to lesser opponents. To review the Fabs history in the Double-Eye, one only needs to watch their matches to see that they are the best tag team in the world. The questionable losses I referred to earlier were that of the referee’s actions, seemingly never catching the opposing team using illegal tactics. But, as the saying goes, “What the ref doesn’t see, the ref can’t call.” On top of the proverbial hill of the IIWF tag team division sit the Fabulous Ones who look down upon a sea of great teams. Teams such as the Down Boys, who aren’t nearly as loved in the Orient as they think they are; the Natural Predators, the IIWF’s big faces; the Prophets of Rage, the team to the extreme in and around the wrestling world; as well as the tag team champions Team Sychosys, who by the way actually gave the Fabs a clean loss. In order to be the best you have to take a step backwards at times to learn from mistakes. This leads to a few newcomers like the American Dragons and the Night Patrol who are at each other’s throat night and day. The two newest entries in the king of the hill contest to topple the Fabs from the top, are the Benjamins and Robert D'Artois & Reiner Ver Magnusson whom in this reporter's opinion don’t stand a chance at ever defeating the Fabs. As I glance over the teams throughout, the one that stands out the most are the famed and dirty handed Machines. After Paul Wong clotheslined the ever beautiful manageress of the Fabulous Ones, Ms. Miki, the feud began to boil. Ms. Miki’s husband took it to Mr. Wong-san in the CIWF and the SJPW in two matches that will go down as some of the greatest action in the history of the sport. Then, just last week when things seem to have simmered a bit, the Machines make their presence felt during a Fabulous Ones/Black Watch match. Fortunately for the Fabs, the members of Black Watch, two unruly Scotsmen, were too ignorant to realize that the Machines wanted a piece of the Fabs and attacked them, resulting in a countout victory for the Fabs. So, where does this feud go from here? Just when you think it’s over, it gets even hotter. In the last few weeks, Mr. Tsuburaya has hosted the “Countdown to Saturday Night” show when the Machines came along and then the Fabs and destroyed the set. The following week saw Simon O’Neal host the show, and guess what? The Fabs showed up and the two teams finished off the rest of the set that remained from the previous week. Again, I ask...Where does it go from here? Either the front office of the IIWF starts doing some damage control or they could loss their tag team meal ticket, should the Fabs suffer any major injuries. Agito has already injured his back during an altercation that took place in a broiler room, when Paul Wong powerbombed him through a scaffolding that broke and sent both men to the concrete floor some fifteen feet down. Then, Wong-san hit Agito in the shoulder with a hammer. When is it going to stop? Only time will tell. [Fade] ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Big Greggy Cool ------------------------------------------------------------------------ [The scene opens up in BGC's hotel in Japan. Big Greggy Cool is with his friend Aaron Morton. Big Greggy Cool is putting on jeans, boots and a sweatshirt, and gripping his brown curly hair. BGC is on the hotel's phone.] BIG GREGGY COOL: Hello front desk... I'd like to order a three in the morning wake up call. Yes, my name is Ronnie D. Uh huh... My last name? Dirkowitz? Hello? Anyone still there? [BGC hangs up the phone.] BGC: C'mon kid... Teach ya how the doctor does it! AARON MORTON: I don't know... I'm more interested in seeing how Ronnie D. does it. Apparently this is his field of work. No offense to you or anything, just that well... BGC: No no no no! Ronnie D. breaks every cardinal rule of personal relations. First off, that kid is a little too over confident. Anyone that blows Mr. Spreadbury off by not showing up at Musings is a li'il too over confident. He holds himself in a li'il too high regard. Ronnie D. thinks he's the Fonz or something. Well there's only one Arthur Fonseralli and hopefully only one BGC, but my guess there's thousands of kids running around out there with broken hearted tights out there. But for some reason he's above all them. [BGC walks over to the hotel's telephone machine and clicks on 'play' to hear the messages left.] MESSAGE: Hello Mr. Cool. I am representing Mrs. Maya Angelou. I am not sure how you got her home phone number, but we hope you do not try to make any further contact with her in the future. Mrs. Maya Angelou will not be able to write your next 'flash' on Monday Night Musings, or any other professional wrestling bits. Thank you very much. [BGC seems just a bit aggravated and continues to speak to Aaron Morton.] BGC: So I don't see where you come up with all this bullocks on Ronnie D. [BGC walks over to the nearest coffee table and starts to examine the center to find the 'break away line' in case he're to tumble through it.] BGC: Ronnie D's somewhat of a cool guy in that high school sense, but he's not a pro wrestler. And I don't plan on losing to him. I have lots of problems with this up coming match and everything. Over here in Japan, I guess "Leave It To Beaver" doesn't really translate easily or anything, cause like its not on here and i'm going through withdrawl on it. I'm gonna have to miss it because all the way out here eating rice and those weird minature mushrooms. If i'm gonna miss it, i'm sure as hell gonna win my match. [BGC walks over to the bathroom and starts to stuff towels into his suit case.] BGC: Plus I think that if I lose this match it'll be a case of blantant racism. [Aaron Morton looks weirdly at the very caucasian BGC.] BGC: They like to mess with minorities over there in the IIWF. I know how they work. I'm already signing a petition to stop their hate mongering. Those IIWF wrestling rings remind me of those concentration camps when I was held captive for three long years in the 1920's during World War II. Its was a dog eat dog world. But I thought we finally moved forward to a better time when ever you get fired you can sue your boss for sexual harrassment and find any form of pornography over the internet. Everyone can agree that the IIWF once again symbolizes the dark ages we must go through again. The 'dubba eye' is nothing short of forced servitude, besides the fact we get paid and its not forced. I'm not only wrestling this match for myself to move onto the next round of the tournament but also for oppressed woman and children every where! I HAVE A DREAM that one day my kids can walk hand in hand away from the evil dubba eye! [BGC shakes his head, walks over to an empty baggy of nuts, blows it full of hair, scotch tapes it closed and returns it nicely to the hotel's mini bar.] BGC: We shall bring the evil empire to its knees! And plus I really need this win cause I got this parking ticket and well I have really no money to pay it off. I bought one of those nifty ginsu knives off of T.V. and I could really be screwed if I don't earn at least ten bucks this weekend with a win, so on Saturday, I will be victorious with moves as smooth as a baby's butt! [BGC smiles and gives the cut throat sign to the camera to signal its fading out.] ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Night Patrol ------------------------------------------------------------------------ LM: The investigation into the American Dragons by Asst. DA Brenda Hawkings continues although a minor snag hit the hunt at a press conference by IIWF intern Tara Stafford. Let's take you to her statement. [A tall, shy redheaded woman in a black beret (!) in her late teens is seen crowded by cameras and holding a written statement, from which she reads with a slight trailerpark accent..] TS: I wish to state for the record that nothing remotely inappropriate occured between myself or Mr. Ivey at any time. Any physical contact that occured was of an incidental and unremarkable nature and I was at no time offended or taken aback by Mr. Ivey. Ms. Hawkings is mistaken in her statements otherwise. Tara's Lawyer: That's all, that's all we have to say... LM: Joining us now in the studio is Ms. Hawkings, who, I might state, also got nothing out of me in her witch hunt. BH: I can already see that a media conspiracy against my self and my officers has begun, Larry. Why? Do you resent minorities in a law enforcement role? or do you resent women in a powerful position? or do you want to explain these parking violations? LM: I paid them, madam. Now, I suppose we can assume that your investigation is over with, after the statement today by Ms. Stafford? BH: That weasel Ivey got away with a technicality. But, as for Joe Scarlecio, I have been following up a tip from Pembleton Furniture in Vancouver, Washington and I can safely say that we are talking about FEDERAL charges! LM: Can you expand on this, Ms. Hawkings? BH: I will tomorrow night on the show. Also I'm still following leads on the true nature of these two American Felons. LM: Thank you, Ms. Hawkings [rolls eyes] [Fade] ------------------------------------------------------------------------ "Playboy" Ronnie D ------------------------------------------------------------------------ [We open to the King of the Cruisers interview area: The brown stool and the black King of the Cruisers vinyl drape. Who could be getting ready to make his appearance? Could it be Big Greggy Cool? "Iconoclast" Sean Watts? "Dumb'n'Ugly" Steve Spector? Oh no... He's more important than that. Who could he be? We'll soon find out as a pair of white dress pants steps into view, followed by a white tuxedo over a black shirt, and then, the face of the icon, the marquee man, the showstopper, the god of wrestling, the money player, and The Man of 1000 Meetings, "Playboy" Ronnie D! He sits down on the stool, pulls out a stogie, bites the end off and light s 'er up with a little silver lighter. He takes a drag before he begins, quickly and a little gruffly.] RD: You know, last night, I was in a fancy ol' jet airliner, thinkin' to myself... I do that a lot on flights where the stewardesses are fat, or worse... Feminists who don't believe in getting hit on. Or even _worse_... Women that think they're up there to serve us _food!_ Besides, I've joined the mile-high club already. And I renewed my membership more than once, _FYI._ Anyhow, I got to thinkin' about rasslin'. I got to thinkin' about the Kay-Oh-Tee-Cee. I thought about me, the icon, and me, the marquee man, and me, the main event... Oh yeah, and I thought of Big Greggy Cool. I was thinking about where I'd heard the name before... And then I thought about a blonde stewardess that was passing by. After I got slapped, I got back to thinking about Greggy and how he, _he_ of all people, got where he is -- The semi-finals of the Kay-Oh. He beat Michaels and Fullbright. Ooooooh! [Ronnie claps his hands mockingly.] RD: And then I thought of how _I_ got here. I beat the crap out of Stevens and I showed Manning what having your head screwed on straight can do. Now, why is it that, while I _did_ make short order of those two, he gets a free pass all the way to the semis and I get midcarders? I thought about that, long and hard, interrupted only only by pinching a stewardess. And then it came to me... He's a little too "loopy" for the suits' tastes. I mean, they're just lucky they didn't have Little Willie in this here tourney. I guess they wanted to prove that they're not biased against unstable, loopy guys, so they... Well, they made the brackets seems a little TOO coincidental. I thought about how "coincidental" it was that he got a free lunch, while they threw all they could at the icon. Maybe... Just maybe, it was a... Get ready, here... A _CONSPIRACY!_ Well, that just _pissed_me_off!_ So, I decided to get a little revenge, before I kick their little conspirator's teeth down his throat! I got my revenge the Ronnie D way, too... Ladies and germs, Beavers and Brownies... Get ready for the REAL Inside The IIWF. You'll be shocked; I know I was... [We cut to outside the IIWF Towers. In the background, the grey sky offsets the trees that sway in the Portland wind as we zoom in on a man wearing a dark black suit and sunglasses. It is none other than the icon, the marquee man, the man with the slogan you've heard about 10,000 times... "Playboy" Ronnie D. He stuffs something in his chest pocket as the wind whips his hair around. He talks almost as if he's briefing us on a hugely Top Secret mission.] RD: Alright... I've inserted a VERY tiny black-and-white video camera in the breast pocket of my jacket, and I promise that today, under the guise of going in to meet the brass, I _will_ uncover some of the IIWF's best kept secrets, and possibly unravel some deep, dark conspiracies in the process. It's just like Watergate, except the IIWF's president doesn't swear as much! Or does he? Come, and we shall find out... [We cut inside of the IIWF Towers, only the view is from a black-and-white lens. We can see from the height of Ronnie D's chest. He is in the lobby, talking to a receptionist.] Receptionist: And what are we here for? RD: I have a meeting with Ian, Gregg and Dan the Man. Receptionist: Oh... A _meeting._ We'll send the redheads up, will that be alright? [The little camera nods up and down with Ronnie before we cut to the interior of an elevator. There isn't anything particularily special about it. The doors fly open, revealing the top floor of the IIWF Towers, where the President's office is located. We see many bustling employees, mainly secretaries wearing the IIWF secretary uniform... VERY low cut V-necks and tight, tight miniskirts. Phones ring like mad, and people type and file papers hastily. IIWF referee Hugo Hugo, his legs barely reaching the end of the chair he sits at, talks excitedly on his phone at his desk. He yells something in Honduran, presumably, "Babalu." Ronnie walks over to a female secretary and chats it up with her...] RD: So, you do interesting work here? Secretary #1: Not really. RD: What's in that box? Secretary #1: Papers, bozo. RD: Mind if I see them? Secretary #1: Employees only, jerkhead. Drop off. RD: Hey, hey! You're talking to the ICON, "Playboy" Ronnie D! Secretary #1: Oh... In that case, employees only, _icon._ Drop off. [Ronnie walks away, and talks to himself.] RD: Note to self: Don't flirt with secretaries. At least not here. [He walks over to another desk, where a secretary talks on the phone. Ronnie looks at the desk as she talks. Specifically, he looks at a large yellow notepad, where she writes her notes. We listen in on the second secretary.] Secretary #2: No... I'm sorry Mr. Blue, Derek isn't in... Would you care to leave a message? OK, shoot... [She takes down the message, and we can see what she writes on the notepad. It follows as such... "From: Richard Blue To: Derek Mota Time: 3:02pm Message: (Deep breathing.)" The secretary continues...] Secretary #2: I'll be sure he gets the message, Mr. Blue... Er... Moxy. [She hangs up and Ronnie walks away. In the background, we hear a secretary shout, "Phone for Mr. Roberts! It's those pests from the EMWC again. Want me to take a message?" And in response, we hear, "I took a message once... Best weekend of my life." Where does the icon walk to? Where else but the corner office, the one with all the ferns around the doors? He opens the double door, and we can see the lobby of the office. There is a window, and a very nice carpet. An ornate desk sits in the middle, and at it sits THIRD secretary who greets Ronnie.] Secretary #3: Ah! Mr. D... They've been expecting you! Head in... [Ronnie opens another door, which leads to _the_ office. Suddenly, a slender vixen pops out from behind the door and grabs Ronnie by the tie.] Vixen: Ooooh... You're a handsome one. We've been waiting for you, and there's Snickers on the desk. Come in, tough guy! RD: HOOOOO! [Ronnie is dragged into the door by the vivacious vixen, as the door slams shut. Apparently, that's all the video we can show. We fade back to Ronnie in the interview area.] RD: Well, we found a few secrets, and unearthed a new conspiracy. I think I'll go investigate the blond "aspect" of this "conspiracy" in the corner office. Heh heh. [We fade back to the new Countdown set.] AM: Zzzzzzz. Is this soddin' tripe over yet? LM: Yes, we've come to the end of another show. I want to thank you for coming down to our new set, Andrew. AM: Oh, sure. Ye takes oop a whole hour o' me trainin' time, sae I can sit 'ere in front o' this fake Japanese table with that fake Mandarin orange tree in th' corner, listenin' tae a boatload o' crap spewin' oot o th' mouths of a bunch o' tossers like the Fatuous Ones... "Thank ye" indeed. Look at tha' picture over there. LM: What, that one? It looks very nice. AM: Bollocks. Go doon t' Chinatoon an' yis can pick this oop fer five quid. See tha'? "Made in Taiwan". What a load o' [BLEEP]! [Andrew takes the painting and throws it at the plastic orange tree, knocking it over and breaking the picture frame. He then spits on the "Countdown" sign and begins to storm off the set.] LM: I guess that's the end... [Akira Saito suddenly appears on the other side of the set carrying a cordless mic.] AS: It's not over yet. [Andrew stops in his tracks, turns around and glares at Saito.] AS: This set is disgusting. Tsubaraya has taken the Japanese culture... _my culture_... and mass produced it for the highest bidder! He is nothing but baka and he has no honour! How can I allow a man like this, or the sell-out tag team he leads, to represent Japan to the rest of the world? The Americanization of my home country is a national shame and men like Tsubaraya capitalize on it and make money off the prostitution of tradition! [He walks over to Macbeth.] AS: Despite our disagreement, I want to thank you for tearing this mockery apart. AM: Ye want a mockery torn apart? ME PLEASURE! [Macbeth grabs Saito around the neck and picks him up off the floor. Before he can follow through with his intended thrashing he is grabbed from behind by...] LM: It's the Turners! [Andrew is forced to drop Saito as he is quickly double hammer-locked by Timothy and Tom Turner. In a sudden flash of motion, Akira snaps out with stiff-hand blow to Macbeth's larynx.] LM: Oh my god! [This is quickly followed by a spinning thrust kick into his midsection which leaves him doubled-over.] LM: He can't breathe! Andrew Macbeth is gasping for air! [Akira and Tom quickly steer Andrew around as Timothy jumps int he air and drops his leg on the back of Macbeth's head, driving him through the low table and into the pit in which it was recessed. Macbeth ends up a crumpled heap in what disturbingly looks like a grave.] LM: A Rocker Dropper through the table! I think Andrew Macbeth is unconscious! [Timothy Turner picks up the fallen mic.] TNT: Correction, Larry, it wasn't a Rocker Dropper... It was a ROCKET DROPPER! Andrew and Duncan think that they rule this federation and that was nothing short of a wake-up call! People may wonder why I bother taking out Andrew when I have already proved that I can easily beat him. You see, I'm in training. Next week I face Simon Lebec and he is another guy I have already handled easily. What comes around goes around and it's time for me to stomp another hole in "the Saviour". No problem. [TNT drops the mic and all three men leave the stage area.] LM: Tune in tomorrow for the best two hours of wrestling anywhere. Don't forget Musings on Monday, Inside on Tuesday, War Room on Wednesday, and right back on Friday for another edition of Countdown with my special guest host, Marty Warnett! Of course, it looks like we have no set, again. Hold on! [Andrew Macbeth pulls himself out of the pit and blood can be seen flowing from a cut on his forehead. He has a wild look in his eye and he runs off the set in the direction the NorthPac members left, with a sort of inhuman wail coming from his lips. +=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= 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 -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=+