________ ______ | || |\ \ /\ / /| __| |\ /| /\ |\ | | /\ \ / | || | \ v v / | __| | v |/ \| \| __| /__\ \/ |_||_| \_/\_/ |_| | |\ /| |/ |/ \/ | | \/ | |\_// /\ |\ /| | _ | / __ / __ | v | | | / \ . |\ | / \ / \ | | | | \__ | | \| | __ \__ 4 May 1998 | | | | \ | | | \__| \ .....................|..v_____/.|.|..|____|____/ ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Steve "the Fury" Kowalski ------------------------------------------------------------------------ [Bob Seger's "Turn the Page" eases in, slow and mild. The music fills the background as we are taken a shoddy camera ride in that back of the ambulance. The lighting is bad and the scene is jumpy, but one thing is clear. Steve Kowalski still hasn't regained consciousness. Never before has the IIWF Champion looked so... dire. The welts on his face are just a sample of what his body had to withstand at the hands of the Deathbringer. You would need an x-ray to see the rest of the internal damage. The scene slowly fades out into the admittance ward of the hospital. Steve Roberts is there, unlike his usual jovial manner, is quietly sitting in the corner. He speaks to no one and rubs his forehead. President Spreadbury is deep in conversation with IIWF reporter Dave Bacon.] DB: This is becoming like a soap opera. DS: Oh, I see you're speaking to me again, Dave. I didn't see you around this week. DB: Yeah, well, I'm sorry. I was afraid _this_ would happen. [At this point, the two men start walking and start opening up.] DS: Touché. Maybe you were right. I have known Kowalski for about two years now, and he was really a marvel. So much so, I never thought he was in any jeopardy. Dave, you know this is a tough business. Breaks and bruises happen. Every once and a while, even a death. Remember that Wilson boy at the Minor League of Wrestling I went to scout? DB: Mmm-hmm. Kansas City, late '95. Punctured his lung trying to do a starsault press. Who would have thought we have wrestlers doing that on a regular basis? Look, Dan, I'm not going to lecture you about what is right and what is wrong. All I know is, it's been an hour and a half and Kowalski _still_ hasn't woken up. DS: [sighing] Yes, I know. Damn him. He's a real heat machine, that guy. So... over... with the fans, the crowd and even me sometimes. Funny as it sounds, I am a fan. I am still a fan of wrestling. I work behind the scenes. I know who the "real" heels and faces are. Who goes to the charity events. I know all the inner workings of our freak show/athletic contests. But still... DB: You still get caught up in the hype yourself. I know what you're going to say. Steve talks tough all the time. Never says, "I can't go on." Full head of steam, non-stop machine. He never lets you know when he is really hurt. He goes out and takes some of the most heinous bumps in the biz and just smiles... acts like, he just stubbed his toe. DS: Yes. And now. Now he's really hurt and I have let him go too far. Maybe. [Chuckling to himself] DB: What's so funny? DS: I was just thinking about when I first met him. I was like, "Look, Kowalski, you need a gimmick. No one is going to pay to see another tough guy from the streets. They're a dime a dozen." DB: What did he say? DS: [Doing his best Fury imitation] "I don't need a gimmick, jackass. I'm the Fury an' I crack skulls. So ya save the pretty friggin' robes fer the rest of the pansies. Jus' play my damn music an' pick new opponents each week an' I'll fill those [BLEEP]damn seats!" DB: [Laughing] Are you kidding me? Well, I guess he proved you wrong. DS: He sure did. I _still_ can't believe he called me a jackass... in our first meeting. [The two men laugh heartily for a minute until the sad reality seeps in and they remember why they are walking the hallways of a hospital. The silence is broken by Bacon, who dares to ask.] DB: So are you going to ask him to step down? DS: I... I don't know. I'll talk to him when he wakes up. [The two trail off down the hallway. The only thing that can be heard is Bacon saying...] DB: If he wakes up. [Fade.] ------------------------------------------------------------------------ "The Black Jesus" Shadoe Rage ------------------------------------------------------------------------ [Fade in: the cameras catch Shadoe Rage coming out of his dressing room. Marissa walks behind him, her arms around his waist and shoulders, holding him. Shadoe Rage look distant and aloof. He barely acknowledges the cameras. Marissa whispers something into his ear. Shadoe stops and addresses the cameras. His eyes still hidden behind sunglasses.] SR: You want one piece of my failure, don't you? You want to be the first to poke your fingers in my wounds? Well, the Angel of Death once again has fallen to Earth. Once again the dream has been derailed and died on the vine. Well, that's just fine. Do you think you can keep discouraging me? No. I'm not Joe Petrow. I'm not going to quit. Danny-boy, when you've exhausted the ideas of your precious few starlets then maybe, just maybe you'll turn to the Black Jesus and say I need you. But the question is. Will I answer that call? Since I have a lot of time off now it's time for the Angel of Death, the Black Jesus to bid you all adieu. Until the resurrection I just got to tell all y'all to stay Black and stay strong. Peace. MM: Just remember the Black Jesus isn't hype. Who knows when or where he'll come back. But when he comes back the world will set aflame. Believe that. SR: Don't waste any more time on them. There's a world for us out there to see. [Shadoe Rage slips through the door and disappears. The disappointment in the man is palpable, but there is always the sense that somewhere... somehow... sometime. Shadoe Rage will be back. And the Black Jesus will rise again. Fade out.] ------------------------------------------------------------------------ The Machines ------------------------------------------------------------------------ [Simon O'Neal pulls up a chair onto the IIWF interview set, sits down, and stares into the camera with a disgusted look on his face. He sighs, then begins to speak.] SO: I'm not an angel. I know it, you know it, everyone knows it. But even I have my limits. But even I have my limits. We were just planning on shoving Mr. Tsuburaya around, making our point. What Paul did... you know, I've seen him pushed to the limit. It seems like people always try to push him around -- I guess they figure he has a reputation of seeing such a boy-scout, he's a pushover. I've seen him take a lot of abuse, and I've seen him lose his temper. What I saw tonight, on the scaffold... I didn't recognise him. He had a look on his face... I've never seen it before, certainly not on Boy Scout Paulie. The Fabulous Ones, Ms. Miki, and everyone in the IIWF... Congratulations. You took a nice guy, and turned him into a monster. We weren't planning on trying to cripple the old man. [He pauses.] Doesn't mean I don't agree with it. The bastard deserved it. I can think of several others who deserve the same thing. And what's our punishment? We get a shot to get rid of the team that's caused all of these problems... on a major PPV. Just like I've always said... crime gets rewarded. This is good. We'll get rid of the Fabulous Ones for good. Then the Machines... then Paul and I... can get back on track to being the best team in the world. And once they're gone... maybe Paul will settle down. Cause until then... that monster I saw on the jumbotron might rise up again. And while the IIWF deserves it for all the crap they've dumped on us... the Machines sure as hell don't. [Simon gets up and kicks the chair off the stage, then walks away.] ------------------------------------------------------------------------ The Fabulous Ones ------------------------------------------------------------------------ [Late Sunday night, General Hospital, downtown Portland, just outside of an intensive care room. "The Universal Heartthrob" Agito Nakajima is siting on the floor next to the double doors of the ER, while Sho worriedly paces back and forth. Ms. Miki is speaking with two physicians, one Japanese and one American. A camera crew comes rushing up to the group. The interviewer, carrying a microphone, is a good looking brunette wearing a short business suit. Sho sees them coming, takes a glance at the lovely brunette and smiles. She quickly preps herself as the cameraman counts down from three, two, one.] Brunette: Hello, I'm Amy Stross for channel four news. Where here at General Hospital to get an interview with the IIWF's most famous team the Fabulous Ones. [She turns and looks at Sho.] Tonight their manager, Mr. Tsuburaya, wealthy world renowned business man, was dropped forty feet onto some unsuspecting fans who were just at a wrestling match to have some fun. Can you give me an update on Mr. Tsuburaya's condition? And, what are your thoughts on the Machines' Paul Wong? Sho: [Looking up and down Mrs. Stross.] No, and I don't care...but what I can tell you is that you have a great pair of legs and a great body to boot. Stross: What? [Mrs. Stross' first reaction is surprise, but then she realizes who said what to her and a huge smile comes across her face as she starts to blush.] Sho: Would you like to go out sometime? Stross: YES! [Mrs. Stross blurts out an answer without any hesitation. She has a glow about her, almost to the point of passing out.] Sho: How about tonight? Stross: Sure! Sho: Well, it might have happened...[Mrs. Stross' look goes from elation to bewilderment.]...if you wouldn't have...[Sho's voice starts to raise a few levels slowly.]... rushed in here to get some CANDY ASS INTERVIEW! [Mrs. Stross now looks very sad as well as scared.] Sho: You come in here, when a man's life is on the line and the people you want to talk too are worried sick about him, and ask some dumb ass questions like, do you have an update on his condition and what about Wong?!! [From the look of hatred and the way Sho is speaking the lovely Mrs. Stross starts to flinch a bit.] Sho: Don't worry, I'm nothing like Paul Wong-san! I won't hit you! So, you want a friggin' interview, how's this... MACHINES, YOUR ASS IS GRASS! You're nothing more than a dai kaiju kuso! [Agito quickly gets up off the floor from where he was sitting and intervenes.] Agito: [Calm and cool] Miki-kun, take Sho and calm him down. [Ms. Miki walks over to Sho, puts her hand on his back, and walks with him out of view.] Agito: Let's get some things straight. First, to answer your question Mrs. Stross, Mr. Tsuburaya will be okay. He has a few broken bones. Stross: The report I had said he might be paralysed?! Agito: Hai, he did have temporary paralysis, but he's got feeling and movement of his entire body now. Just temporary. Stross: That's certainly good news. Agito: Hai, it is. But let's get to your second question. Machines, it looks as though President Spreadbury-san has decided we are a little too much for his federation to handle. He's signed a contract for us to do battle in a "Loser-Leaves-Wrestling" match. I assure you, we're good to go with it. However, I want to add another stipulation...I want this match in a cage! Are you man enough, or are you going to attack Bertha next? Stross: So you're saying, whichever team losses is out of the IIWF? Agito: Hai, Mrs. Stross-san. Gone from the federation that makes legends, gone from one of the big shows. It's quite fitting to think that this situation has come to this. But, I see it as a necessary evil. Sho-kun and I have a score to settle, and we're going to bring everything we've got. Paul Wong injured Ms. Miki, myself, and now Mr. Tsuburaya, who's been like a father to Sho and I. Come Birthday Bash 98', the Fabulous Ones are bringing the war to the Machines. No more play time boys. This time it's for real. Stross: Thank you very much for the update and interview. This has been Mrs. Stross for Eye on Wrestling. Only on channel four news. [The camera signs off and the cameraman puts the camera down. Mrs. Stross hands the microphone to the cameraman, then walks over to Agito, who's standing with the Japanese doctor. She taps him on the shoulder and he turns around.] Stross: I'm extremely sorry about barging in here. It's my job, what can I say? Agito: Well, I apologize for Sho's behavior, he sometimes gets a little too emotional. [Pulling a card out of her suit pocket.] Do me a favor and give this to him, should he want to call me sometime. [She hands the card to Agito who looks at it, then back up at her.] Agito: I don't think so. An apology for doing your job doesn't make up for the fact that it happened. [He hands the card back to her. She looks a bit sad, turns and walks away. Agito turns back around and talks with the doctor again. Fade.] ------------------------------------------------------------------------ "Vagabond" Chris Staley ------------------------------------------------------------------------ [Scene fades up on an empty set. A page walks in sheepishly with a note. He clears his throat and reads the note:] PAGE: Um, uh, I have a note from Mr. Staley. "Hey dumbasses, this is Staley. I've gone off to find a couple of old friends. You'll meet them when the time's right. As for Deathboy, you can have a million clones, I still don't give a [beep]! All I gotta say is, at the Bash, be prepared for a mass burial. May you burn in hell, asshole. Oh, and Morton? You're asking me why I have such animosity? Go back and watch the battle royal, genius, and get your head out of Chuck Norris's ass. This Saturday Night, an eight man tag. What the [beep], am I supposed to be impressed? As long as Deadboy's mine, I could care less. And as for those who say I'm making a stupid move, well, I don't see YOU kickin' any ass in the ring, so kiss my ass. I'll do what the hell I want. See ya in hell, Chris Staley." Thank you. [The page trips over a cord as he leaves the set. Fade as the cameraman laughs at the page.] ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Deathbringer ------------------------------------------------------------------------ [SCENE: The IIWF interview area. Deathbringer is rushing into the scene, still wearing his wrestling attire. He's upset, and almost shouting as he begins to speak in a rather evil sounding way] DB: Staley... Tonight you made the worst mistake of your life... [Deathbringer looks down and tries to calm down. Without raising his head again, he continues to speak] DB: Kowalski was finished... I had him lying on the floor, motionless, unconscious with his soul ready to leave the mortal shell... And that was exactly what I had promised you... But then, all of a sudden, Chris Staley shows up... again... and interferes in _my_ chance to regain what rightfully belongs to me... the IIWF World Heavyweight Championship title... [Deathbringer raises his head again and his voice gets louder, too] DB: Wrestle clean... Now I did so... and still the referee decides to count me out rather than to disqualify Kowalski... but I am used to this injustice here in the IIWF already... It started two years ago when Dan Kauffman pinned me while I had my foot in the ropes, it happened again when the Outlaw J.W. Hardin battered me down with a chair during my casket match against Otto Verhoeven and now, today, history repeated itself... it always does... Now this takes me directly back to you Staley... Just what do you think happened with all those so-called superstars like Dan Kauffman, Otto Verhoeven or Requiem? What happened to all those preliminaries who though they could mess with me? They are dead and gone... [Deathbringer calms down again.] DB: And next Saturday, Staley, we will meet in the main event again... And I will make sure, that _you_ will _not_ make it to Birthday Bash... [Fade as Deathbringer walks off the scene.] ------------------------------------------------------------------------ "Rocket Man" Timothy N. Turner ------------------------------------------------------------------------ ["Rocket Man" Timothy N. Turner stand in the IIWF interview area, dressed in a very fine, light taupe silk suit. He lloks very calm and confident.] TNT: I don't want to talk about Saturday...I want to talk about Friday. Did you see the way Andrew Macbeth went through that crappy little table? It reminded me of when I left him for dead after our match at Ring Wars. Andrew...you were in my way and so I moved you. Don't forget that when all is said and done, my brothers in the NorthPac Coalition, Tom and Akira, are going to leave you in a heap...just like I did. Which brings me to Simon Lebec. Think back, Simon. A couple of months ago you were feuding with someone I thought was my friend and I took offence at some of your actions. We met on War Room and you got the victory. I'm sure you would like to leave it at that but the reality is, you got the disqualification victory. Do you remember why? Do you remember me beating you within an inch of your life? Probably not. The concussion would have taken care of that. Simon, next Saturday you are going to really wish you had helped Stonebreaker to advance because when I'm done with you, you'll wish you had never resurfaced after your little spat with Duncan on that river. Some people think that just because I'm getting some cheers that I have lost that killer instinct. Nothing could be further from the truth. I'm happy I'm getting cheered but if that means rolling over and playing dead while some clown like Lebec walks over me...forget it. It's not going to happen. The Rocket Man hit-list is prepared. First Lebec. Second Warnett. Third Quigley... just as promised. The IIWF is on hiatus right after Birthday Bash and I am going to spend as much of that hiatus as I need to hunt down and find Chris Quigley, to offer him one last shot at the Intercontinental Belt that he never lost. I'll still be champ after, though. [Fade] ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Prophets of Rage ------------------------------------------------------------------------ [SCENE: The IIWF interview set. Icehawk is dressed in jeans, and strangely enough, an old Genesis t-shirt. He has a bandage over the cut that Derek Mota inflicted earlier in the day.] IH: I haven't worn this shirt in a long, long time. But once I saw next Saturday's card, I thought it was pretty appropriate. After all, I'll be teaming up with the only other GenGen member left -- my old buddy Serge. And we will be going against our old favourite whipping boy -- Derek Mota. Derek, how many times did Genesis beat the holy hell out of you? You probably thought all of that was behind you -- but it's not. Saturday's going to be like old home week for you. And isn't it ironic that one of our team-mates will be the guy who whined the most about Genesis -- then ran away when he couldn't do anything about it. Claw, I'll be happy to team up with you Saturday -- because we have the bond of wanting to destroy Musashi. But that doesn't mean I like you. You and James pouted when you couldn't beat Genesis -- and you talked the suits into letting you steal my tag belt in a fixed gimmick match. Then you ran away and hid. Now you call yourself some kind of ruler. Great. How long will it be this time before you have a temper tantrum and storm off again? [Icehawk shakes his head and chuckles wryly.] IH: Chris Staley, welcome to the soap opera. [Fade.] ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Caleb Temple ------------------------------------------------------------------------ [SCENE: The IIWF interview area. Caleb Temple is wearing his customary attire of sleeveless black t-shirt with a white cross emblazoned upon the heart, black jeans, black boots with three silver buckles, and fingerless black gloves. His dark hair hangs in long rat-tails over his pale face, and his muscular, tattooed arms hang loosely by his side. He has a piece of paper in his right hand.] CT: "Upon his head they placed a crown of thorns, and they bowed the knee before him, and mocked him." Matthew 27:29. [He holds the piece of paper up to the camera, and we can see that it's a note from Temple's tag team partner Gunnar "Grizzly" Gaines. It consists of the IIWF's top ten "most hated" list, and scrawled underneath, "We're number one. Gunnar." Temple smirks devilishly.] Is it now _MINE_ to play the martyred one? Have my deeds thus far been _SO_ heinous as to warrant such cruel taunts? Oh, it matters not to Caleb Temple, my children. One such as I was _BORN_ for this role. Hated I may be, concerned I am not. Yes, for you all, I, Caleb Temple, shall wear this metaphorical crown of thorns. [He chuckles softly to himself.] I would even consider it a compliment. Already, the actions of the Baddest Thangs Running have been recognised by their contemporaries, and thus validated. Now, with less than two weeks until 'Birthday Bash', those actions must be UNDERLINED. Strictly for emphasis, you understand. Strictly to ensure that the cousins Macbeth understand EXACTLY what awaits them. Not because we, the Baddest Thangs Running, take _ANY_ pleasure in causing our opponents to suffer agonies untold. Heavens, no. [He folds the piece of paper in half, and slips it into his pocket.] Now, how do we go about "underlining" our actions? I'll explain. On Wednesday, the Fabulous Ones shall enter the War Room with Brother Gaines and myself. But it's destined to be a one-way trip, I'm afraid. For LEAVE, they shall NOT. Not in one piece, at least. As for Saturday's match... [He claps his hands slowly, loaded with sarcasm.] ...congratulations, President Dan. Quite the matchmaker as always. Oh, I have a _LOT_ to say about Steve Sampson. But there'll be ample time for history lessons later this week. For now, let me remind you, one and all, of "Temple's Law". It states that "those who turn away, will be turned UPON." Black Watch... Fabulous Ones... Sampson and Donovan... [He bows his head slightly, and glares up at the camera, through a mask of stringy hair.] Caleb Temple awaits you. [He smiles. Fade.] ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Gunnar "Grizzly" Gaines ------------------------------------------------------------------------ [SCENE: Portland, Oregon. On a ridge to the west of the Portland skyline, a shilhouette of a house is shown, and beyond it, a sunset. Cut to a closer shot... a shilhouette appears, watching the sunset... ] VO: Twice was enough... [A spark flickers to life in the form of a lit match, illuminating the face of Gunnar "Grizzly" Gaines. He lights a lantern, then blows the match out.] GGG: Yes, twice was enough to demonstrate to Bum Watch exactly what the Baddest Thangs Running can do in a Spin The Wheel match. But no. [Gunnar shakes his head side to side, grinning] GGG: President Dan had to sign up a pair of tag teams to face us IN THE RING this week. Next Saturday, we'll have The Event That Portland Drooled Over. The two biggest stars in Portland history, Gunnar Gaines and Steve Sampson, face to face, with the sickest son of a bitch alive, namely Caleb Temple, thrown in for good f'n measure. Oh, and Robert Donovan. But first... [His grin turns into a sneer] GGG: The _Flatulent Ones_. [He looks down, amused for a brief instant.] GGG: Boys... if ever a tag team defined the term "fart stains," it would be the "_Universal_ fart stain" and the "Sweet" one, Sho Satsuma. Your cute jokes... your trashy little manager... your preening and your vain "heel" antics... your long, boring ring introductions... and your whole god damn cliched, annoying schtick... [He chuckles, then stops with a serious voice and firm tone] GGG: _None_ of it matters against the Baddest Thangs Running. See, kids, you're not facing the usual lily-livered twerps you're used to. You're facing two men who are big... two men who are bad... and two men who flat out _do not care_. Not about hurting themselves... not about _killing_ you. I, in particular, am a bone-breaking, career taking, ring shaking, get-your- fear-quaking son of a god damn bitch. If you'd done your research, you would know that. You would find a way to get out of this match. But it's too late for that now... and ya know what that means, kids? You're two bitty little Japanese deer. It's dark out. The rising sun... has just _set_ on your asses. You're in the middle of the road. Suddenly, you're gazing into the headlights... [he chuckles] GGG: And here come the Baddest Thangs Running. And girls, when we hit your karate-kicking, high-spotting asses, Fart throb and Satsuma... [another guffaw] GGG: ...you're gonna be turned into _sashumi_. Yum yum! [Grizzly Grin -- made more fiendish by the illumination of the dancing lantern flame.] Don't like it? Well, there's only ONE thing ya gotta do, and ain't no one in the Double Eye done it so far. BEAT US... _if_ you can. [He blows out the lantern flame. Black.] ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Steve Manning ------------------------------------------------------------------------ [SCENE: Backstage of the IIWF Arena in Portland during the last dying minutes of IIWF Saturday Night. Several nameless faces are scattered around the premises, as suddenly a door swings open and Steve Manning staggers into the scene, his hair a soaking mess, a cigarette hanging from his mouth, and wearing only a pair of ragged jean shorts and sandals. He's dragging an empty bottle of whiskey in his left hand, which he smashes against the wall, scaring the bejeezus out of several of the IIWF staff. Manning spots the camera and awkwardly walks towards it.] SM: [speaking in a low, raspy voice] Awwww... geez. [Manning looks around confused.] SM: I was s'posed to be here 'bout two hours ago, wasn't I? Ta hell with it. Was I rasslin'? [A voice off-camera answers in the negative.] SM: No? Then I didn't miss nothin'. I didn't miss a thing. Hey... c'mere... [Manning beckons to no one in particular, but a small man approaches him.] SM: Tell me somethin'.... when am I wrestlin' again? Ain't I in some tournament or something? MAN: Uh... no sir. Not anymore. But you do have a match against Luke Steele on Wednesday! SM: [pauses] I'm not in a tournament? MAN: No... well... you _were_. But you were eliminated by "Playboy" Ronnie D after you... [Manning's eyes widen, his mouth curves into a snarl. He grabs the smaller man by the collar, flips him upside down and tosses him hard into a wall.] SM: [screaming] I LOST TO RONNIE D?! I LOST TO THAT SON OF A BITCH?! SOMEONE'S GONNA PAY! SOMEONE'S GONNA DIE! NEXT SATURDAY SOMEONE IS GONNA BE DECIMATED! I PROMISE YOU THAT I'LL... [A nearby monitor catches Manning's eye as he spots Steve Kowalski. He observes the battered and broken champion, helpless, entering convulsions, the crowd silenced at the disturbing scene. The backstage area is quiet too. That is until the sound of laughter erupts from Steve Manning.] SM: [amidst sick laughter] Tha's... tha's good... that's all good... oh Christ... gotta love that stuff.... [Manning continues laughing and muttering to himself as he walks off-camera, everyone in the scene behind him staring at the demented wrestler as he leaves. Fade.] ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Valtharius the Mad ------------------------------------------------------------------------ [The ever familiar IIWF banner hangs in the background as Valtharius approaches it and sniffs it. Karachel "floats" in to the area, hands in the sleeves of his black robes] K: Mr. Steele, it seems as if Valtharius has taken a liking to you for some strange reason.... is it because you smell of blood? VTM: MEATHEAD FRIEND!!! HE FEED VALTHARIUS!!! K: NOT a friend my moronic slave... a victim. A victim of circumstance... it is too bad that he may not make it to this vaunted match he dreamt up at the Pay-Per-View. Heed the words of the Voice of Reason... We will take care of you soon enough Mr. Steele for we understand your pain... and that is because WE are the ones who caused it! [Karachel throws back his cowled head and gives a insane cackle as Valtharius starts slapping at an insect buzzing around. Valtharius slaps down the IIWF banner in his attempts to kill the insect. Several IIWF backstage hands rush in to replace the banner as Valtharius screams at them, "GOWAY!!! MY FOOD!!! YOU FIND OWN BUGGY TO EAT!!!" Valtharius chases them off as Karachel rushes off in hot pursuit to prevent injury to the IIWF staff members. Fade.] ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Derek Mota ------------------------------------------------------------------------ [Derek Mota walks onto the interview set immediately following his match with Harlequin Tragedy. Mota's face is bruised from all the damage he took, but he couldn't look any better.] DM: This is the life, ain't it? I got the big monster Robert Donovan after me... Just defended my IIWF Cruiserweight Title... My own stablemate won't even go out for a beer with me... Moxy's off in Mexico sipping soup through a straw... [As Mota keeps on rattling off the reasons, he ticks them off on his fingers one at a time.] And next week I'm in the main event. Yeah, wouldn't change my life for the world... hehe. [Derek walks off the set, leaving nothing but the IIWF backdrop in focus for several seconds before finally fading out.] ------------------------------------------------------------------------ "To Excess" Rick Williams ------------------------------------------------------------------------ [Scene opens to an empty IIWF interview area. After a brief period of inactivity, the instantly recognisable figure of "To Excess" Rick Williams steps into view. Looking slightly dishevelled following The Coalition's altercation with Steve Sampson and Robert Donovan, he takes a moment to regain his composure. Still in his wrestling attire, his seemingly incessant gum-chewing is once again in evidence as he begins to speak.] RW: So, you think you got one over on The Coalition, do you, Steve? Well, think again, _Superstar_. You can bring in your twelve foot tall, two tonne buddy, or whatever, but it doesn't make the slightest bit of difference. What is it they tell me his name is? Donovan... Robert Donovan, wasn't it? Might as well be _Jason_ Donovan for all the good he'll do you. Where'd you find him, _Superstar_? Nah, don't answer that... It's obviously the same place they found Tonnage and Destructo. [Chuckling at the mention of such names, Williams pushes his hair from his face before proceeding.] You know, _Superstar_, I couldn't help but smile when I heard the good news. Not only had the technically inept, criminally overrated and tragically washed-up Steve Sampson inked a Double Eye contract this week, but that "To Excess" would be the man to leave his unbelievably unmerited reputation in ruins at Birthday Bash. Damnit, it felt good to know that things were finally goin' my way. You see, Destructo will be the IIWF World Champion before Mota throws that towel in the ring so that gives me all the time in the world to win the match, and have no doubt about it, _Superstar_, I _will_ win the match. And when I do, I want what I deserve... and you know what that is? [An evil grin surfaces on Williams' face as he contemplates his preceding comments.] I want a hand-written apology from every _single_ IIWF official, and especially our beloved president, who had to audacity to introduce Steve Sampson as a legend in the sport. I want the world to admit that Sampson is as overrated as the federations in which he made his name... and I want the world to admit that "To Excess" Rick Williams is the greatest _wrestler_ to ever set foot in an IIWF ring. You know, it's sad when being around a long time is confused with being great. It's about time you made to the deep end of the pool, _Superstar_... all that swimming in the shallow end only fooled the uninformed... But at Birthday Bash, I guarantee the Steve Sampson legacy is sinking without trace. [Fade.] ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Steve Sampson ------------------------------------------------------------------------ [The scene is the locker room shortly after the IIWF Security team has pulled Steve Sampson off of Rick Williams. Griff and Dan Spreadbury are controlling Sampson, holding him back from going after Rick Williams again. Sampson, acting like a raging maniac, tries to break free. Cut to Monday Morning, in the IIWF Interview Area. Steve Sampson stands in front of the IIWF logo, a microphone in his hand, as he paces slowly back and forth.] SS: You really thought that I'd just sit idly by as you and Derek Mota put your hands on me? You really thought that by embarrassing myself and Dan Spreadbury that you'd make names for yourselves? Well, score two weeks ago for you. Score last week for me. You see, I've never taken kindly to people telling me what I can and cannot do. When you and Mota beat me down, as I was looking at the ring lights, I thought that I was stupid for coming into "enemy territory" as people would like to say. So I went, and I gathered up my senses, got myself a second I can trust, and came back to return the favour. Now, Birthday Bash is coming up and Spreadbury, in his infinite wisdom, has put us in a towel match. Rules are, only your second can stop the match. Believe me, Donovan has been told to leave the towel in the locker room. I don't care if my career is on the line, I'm going to make you scream in pain, and Mota will have no choice, but to throw the towel in. And in front of the fans that I spilled my blood for across town. In front of my family and my friends. I'm going to show Rick Williams why I'm considered a Superstar, and he's considered a Mid-Card Jobber. [Sampson throws the microphone to someone off camera, and storms out.] ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Robert Donovan ------------------------------------------------------------------------ [The scene is a porch in front of a fairly large two-story home.  On the porch are a few odds and ends...a couple of chairs, a swing, you know, the usual stuff people put on their front porches.  What is not usual, however, is the seven foot, two inch, three hundred and ten pound monster sitting on the heavily reinforced swing.  This man's name is Robert Donovan, and he's wearing street clothes -- specifically, a pair of jeans and a t-shirt which reads, "Paint It Black".] RD: Well, well, what have we here...the erstwhile IIWF camera crews. [Donovan grins.] RD: Come on, don't be shy.  I'm not one of those big guys that likes to pick on cameramen and announcers for fun like some certain [BLEEP]holes I have the displeasure of knowing.  I'm not here to try to extol the virtues of Robert Donovan, however...I'm here to say a few brief words about next Saturday Night. [Donovan rises to his feet, his arms folded.] This Saturday Night...I step into the ring with a friend.  I step into the ring with a man I trust and respect by my side...against two men who, to put it nicely, I have no respect for.  Gunnar Gaines... I saw that little stunt you pulled on the Meatman.  I've never been more disgusted in my life.  I'm a father of one myself, Gaines... with another possibly on the way.  Any man who would use their child just to win a god [BLEEP]ed WRESTLING match... well... isn't a man at all. Next Saturday, Gaines, you're gonna find out first hand what it's like to have a pissed off Rob Donovan on the opposite side of the ring. And as for your buddy, Caleb Temple... [Donovan sneers slightly at the camera, curling his lip in disgust. I remember facing you in the MLWO, Temple.  But for a fraction of an inch, and I'd have driven you head and neck first into that bed of thumbtacks.  I misjudged by just that match...and you knew it.  You know deep down in that coal black heart of yours that the only reason you beat me is because I let it happen.  That's why you dumped that gasoline all over me after that match, then blew out the flames that would have ignited my flesh...you wanted to frighten me against ever stepping into the ring with you again. [Donovan grins at the camera.] But you failed, Temple.  You failed miserably...and now, nearly a year after our first confrontation...you and your partner are going to pay for all of your crimes.  You're going to pay... [The camera focuses on Donovan's face -- his eyes glint with intensity.] ...and you're going to pay _dearly_. [Fade.] ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Eddy "Flap" Jacks ------------------------------------------------------------------------ [SCENE: Midnight, New York City. The camera cuts a quick, sweeping pan, revealing the nature of the desolate downtown street. Beggars slumber in relative bliss in the sanctuary offered by dark, murky alleyways... dusty fliers tumble down the avenue, driven inexorably towards their unknown destination by the whims of a fickle, humid breeze.... And Eddy Jacks, clad in dark trenchcoat and battered derby, surveys the scene, a look of grim disgust on his craggy, careworn face.] EJ: All this stuff don't mean a damn thing. All 'ese folks livin' 'ere in darkness while us other folk got fine houses ta shake off the heat o' the damn night. It just ain't right. [Jacks looks up at the starless sky and smirks...a cold, loveless smirk.] Yer a cruel bitch, world. [Jacks pauses, allowing the wind to flutter through his hair and ruffle his oversized trenchcoat.] An' ya give ev'rybody the shaft. But I ain't one ta complain. My life's been hard...hell, harder than most. But I ain't dead, neither. An' I got a job ta boot, which is more'n these saps... [Jacks pauses, overcome by a momentary flood of emotion.] ...can say. That's good. That's why I still get my ass outta bed everday, still lace up my damn boots an' tell my back he's got another match left in 'im. 'Cuz my kids need food. 'Cuz my wife needs annuder ring. 'Cuz my god_damn ego tells me I got another belt left in me. [Pause.] An' I got drive, too. Ya gotta have that ta get here. When youse is just a little boy an' yer pop's out drinkin' away all the money an' yer mom's dyin' o' cancer in the bedroom next ta yers, well, ya gotta use that drive ta get anywheres. An' I'm somewhere. But I got drive plenty ta make one last run. [Jacks wipes a tear from his eye...a single, salty tear.] But the league didn't go an' do nothin' 'bout it, so I sez ta myself, 'I'm gonna hafta do it Eddy's way.' So that's what I'm gonna do. The tank still got gas in it. An', screwed over 'cuz I went an' beat Ike Sampson's Uncle Tom ass at Ring Wars, I don't get the shot I wanted. I don't get a chance ta step inta the eye_cee draw. Nah, I get slapped up 'gainst some half-wit by the name o' Icehawk...some lil' bug half o' my damn size...an' I wrestle for a belt my gut ain't even gonna let me wear. [Pause.] So then I sez, 'What if Spready an' that brown-nosin' runt Osteyhouse don't book da match?" Then I'm gonna take it on my lonesome ta break yer pretty lil' incontinental champ, smackin' him 'round 'til he begs the league ta book the match. Ya stick my ass in the ring wit' Shadoe Rage, I'll whip his glove-wearin' ass. Ya give me Marty Warnett an' we'll see just how much o' a 'party animal' that boy is. An' ya give me Tee_En_Tee...an', well, les' jus' say his pretty-boy face ain't gonna be free o' battle scars no more. [The camera zooms back, revealing Jacks' position in relation to the scenery around him.] So don't go fittin' me fer the coffin jus' yet, writin' me off as a War Room legend ta trot out ta yer pretty boy newbies....'cuz my ass ain't ready ta go yet. I done looked at myself an' said, 'Ya know, Flaps, yer pants is gettin' kind o' loose now that the Double-Eye trainers been workin' ya harder.' An' then I said, 'I got a way to fix that, though. I'm gonna go an ' get me a belt.' An' that's what I'm gonna do. I ain't one o' the many.... [Pause.] ...'cuz I got the guts ta step inta the light. [Jacks steps forward, allowing the dim illumination from a street light to illuminate him in a final, symbolic gesture. Fade.] ------------------------------------------------------------------------ NorthPac Coalition ------------------------------------------------------------------------ ["Constable" Tom Turner and "The Immolator" Akira Saito stand in the IIWF interview area in street clothes.] CTT: It seems that Tsubaraya was so hurt by the accusations of my friend here that he decided to end it all by leaping from the top of the Jumbotron. Unfortunately some Americans broke his fall. Symbolic really. Tsubaraya sells out Japan and then relies on those whose corruption he has banked on, to save him. AS: I have nothing specific against the Machines. I mean, they are annoying little whiners who think that talking tough and beating up women makes them good wrestlers, but I have no reason to wish them harm. However, this loser leaves town match makes me wish for their demise. For, you see, we have very specific goals here in the IIWF to do with honour, something with which Americans know little. One of those steps was to beat Tsubaraya's little minions who disgrace my country with their actions. The Fabulous Ones allow American wrestling fans to think Japanese men are vain, pompous, little air-heads with no sense of nobility. WE were going to end this mockery by ending them. However, now we might not get the chance. Pity. [Fade] ------------------------------------------------------------------------ The Harlequins ------------------------------------------------------------------------ [There is a long hallway. The walls are painted concrete block and the concrete floor is lit by fluorescent lights hanging from the tiled ceilings. cables are laid out on the ground along the walls and curtains are hung in front of a few entrances. From the end of the hall, El Super Gecko and Casey C. are heading down the hall talking. Gecko stops suddenly, surprising Casey until he sees the large shadows heading their way. Chaos of the Harlequins then stomps by. His face-paint does not conceal the angry look upon his face nor the hatred that appears to be in his eyes. Gecko does a quick sidestep as Terror and Melody follow. Terror gives a quick snarl to the JJSers, only to be held back by a concerned, yet quiet Melody. Comedy follows suit. Looking quite somber, unlike her usual cheerful demeanour. She looks down at the floor as she shuffles along. Gecko and Casey simply look on as the line is ended by Tragedy. The Tragic One sports a bruise on his forehead, the colour of which matches the dark circles under his eyes. Jumping Jack runs up to him with an ice-pack. But the Harlequin leader responds by batting the pack away and punching the clown to the floor. As Tragedy leaves, Gecko rushes to help Jumping Jack up. Casey C is left standing, silent, as the five Harlequins head through their dressing room door one by one, ending when Tragedy finally enters and slams the door behind him.] ------------------------------------------------------------------------ American Dragons ------------------------------------------------------------------------ [Open on the IIWF Colosseum parking lot. Bob Ivey throws his gym bag into the back of a '92 Mustang convertable. He has on his white leather jacket, and the red dragon is barely visable in the nightime lights of the parking lot] BI: Well, you all saw it. It's official. Once again, the American Dragons open an IIWF Pay-per-view. A lot of people, and a lot of tag teams, may hate the under-card. They may think that being so low as to be the first match is a poor sign. We get the hot crowd. While people are still psyched to be watching the card. Not when people want to hit the fridge, not when people want to go to the bathroom. People only care two times: the beginning and the end. This is our time to show the world that the hardest working team in the biz, the young guns of the tag team division, are the future of tag team wrestling. [Bob slams the trunk] BI: So next week, we don't get our match with the Benjamins. There's always another day. Instead, we finally get the Natural Predators. Only they're not across the ring from us. They're beside us. Fine by me. Across the ring? The Black Watch and the Night Patrol. Me and Joe didn't appreciate you two interrupting our match last week to show some dumb film clip. But hey, this is payback. Payback's going to be a bitch. Macbeths, you are a good tag team, no question. You're tough, and you can take a lot of abuse. But look at us. The Preds are former IIWF Tag Team champions, while we're the future. Don't think about underestimating us, Black Watch. It'll be the biggest mistake you ever made. And of course, Blazer and Garcia...well, Hawkings ain't found crap. In two weeks, you'll have to step in the ring with the Dragons. This week, everyone gets a free look at how badly we're going to humiliate you. You're afraid of us...and you're toast. [Bob gets in the car, and puts the keys in the ignition. Before he starts it, a thought hits him, and he stares at the camera] BI: Oh, Gaines and Temple? Steve Roberts says I don't like you. He's right. And the American Dragons ain't afraid of you either. Any team, any time... [Bob peels out of the parking lot, as we fade out on his license plate: AM-DRAG.] ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Robert d'Artois & Reiner Ver Magnusson ------------------------------------------------------------------------ [Robert d'Artois and Reiner Ver Magnusson are packing their bags, backstage, in the Saturday Night locker rooms. They are interrupted by the IIWF cameras. d'Artois approaches them as Magnusson continues to back their affairs.] RdA: We'll make that short and sweet. Shall the Benjamins accept, we consider that at Birthday Bash, Reiner and myself will get the opportunity to annihilate the perpetrators of the insanity that is currently surrounding us here in the IIWF. I'm talking about that losing streak, I'm talking about the fact that, while we don't cleanly lose and score great moral victories, we are yet to gain a physical win here. Sure, we didn't lose any match cleanly, but then again, when people are currently looking at our win/loss record, I think that they take a good laugh, and quite honestly, I don't have the time to explain to each and every loser out there the circumstances which led to these so-called losses. So, at Birthday Bash, shall the Benjamins accept, we will get the opportunity for a second debut here in the IIWF. But this time, we won't let it go like the debut match we got a little while back, the one that shall never have existed. No way... This new debut will see things go the right, the correct, the way it shall ever have been. Reiner and myself will score a strong victory and we will then go on to our glorious way to the World Tag Team Titles. Besides, isn't a pay-per-view the place where we should have debuted at the very beginning? I mean, some Saturday Night show is acceptable, but the more you can give to athletes of our calibre, the better it is. Benjamins, if you are as competitors as you like to say you are, you'll accept, and you'll be soundly defeated by True European Excellence at that very pay-per-view event! We can't be beat and we are ready to back up our words! [He and Reiner leave as the screen fades to black.] ------------------------------------------------------------------------ The Benjamins ------------------------------------------------------------------------ [Camera opens on the IIWF interview room where Bobby and Joe stand in their wrestling gear, with bare torsos, and arms folded. Bobby has a large gauze band-aid on his forehead. Their usual benjismiles are replaced with stern visages] JB: That's how the game's played, huh? Magnusson, d'Artois, you guys hit people from behind with chairs? [nods his head sarcastically] Oh yeah, that's REAL brave. BB: [Turns to his brother] Hey, it ain't that bad... It's another lesson that we've learnt, and that we've gotta deal with in the future. JB: Well I definitely got something to deal with. Magnusson, you think you're the World's Strongest Man? Okay, I ain't got a title like that... I'm just plain old Joe Benjamin from Minnesota. But you know what? I don't need to call myself something like that -- I'll take you on a test of strength anytime you want. BB: You guys want an answer to your challenge? You got it. Yes, yes, and yes -- [Balls his left hand into a fist, and then sticks a thumb in the air] yes, we will fight you at the Birthday Bash. [Sticks his index finger in the air] Yes, we will make you take notice, and yes [Sticks his middle finger in the air, to join his other two], we are going to keep your record spotless -- come May 16, you're gonna be oh-from-four. JB: Y'know, we didn't have anythin' against you guys when we first wrestled, apart from your big mouths, but now it's personal. We're gonna do it for the Double Eye, and do it for the U.S of A -- it ain't somethin' that we're just sayin' -- We really believe in both of them. BB: Before we go, Dragons, you two are a great team and we accept your invitation -- it's gonna be a great match... JB: 'COS IT'S ALL ABOUT THE BENJAMINS, BABY!! [Camera fades out as the usual benjismiles finally make their way to the two youths' faces.] ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Natural Predators ------------------------------------------------------------------------ [Fade in as Steve Roberts, in the IIWF parking garage, moving to his candy apple red sportscar, fumbling with the keys after Saturday night's Main Event.] SR: What an evening... if I have to sit through one more night with the American Drag-Queen, the Benjamins, and Warnett, I swear I'll kill myself... B: Is that a promise? [Stepping from behind one of the parking columns is the massive Bear, wearing a muscle shirt with the "4d" logo on it and black jeans. Steve turns in shock] SR: Jesus... what do you want, Bare-butt? I'd have thought between getting your head split by Marissa and that cute little wardrobe change to beat on Binky in what only a boob like you could _think_ was anonymity... B: Shut up. [Taking a few steps towards him, silhouetted in the parking garage lights looking all the more fearsome.] GP: He didn't do that, Roberts. [Roberts turns quickly, seeing Grey Phoenix sitting in the sports car on the passenger side] SR: Oh, God, revenge of the tags....you freaks just appear out of the air...let me guess....your newest Predator is gonna be Bull-Queer, right? [Bear grabs Steve by the scruff of the neck, as Roberts begins to tense] Uh...I mean.... GP: Maybe I should make this as short as possible, so you can get it through your skull, "Soundbite". We're not amused. B: Not amused. GP: And we've taken it upon ourselves to make a few things clear. B: You listening? [lifting him slightly] SR: You two could get suspended for this! GP: Two things....then we're out of here. If you refer to us as "gay guys" again, we'll make your life a living hell. As much as you talk about your so-called sex life, Ms. Danes, you're far more suspicious of possessing a rubber wrist than us. SR: Bite me. [Bear snarls. Steve Roberts turns] I didn't mean literally, low-Q....hey Wolcott, you want to call off your pet here? GP: Point two. If you _ever_....and I mean _EVER_ even say anything against Edmund again....Bear? [Bear grabs Steve Roberts' wrist, wrenching the keys out of his hand. Taking one key, snapping it in half, Bear glares at Roberts] Are we making ourselves clear? SR: Clear as you guys ever have been. GP: Good. Bear? Let's get out of here. [the two of them leave in separate directions, Roberts picking up the rest of the key-ring, shouting after] SR: You try anything like this again, I'll not only have you thrown out of the IIWF, I'll have your asses in jail! GP: That a promise, pencil dick? [Roberts looks at the key-ring and sighs] SR: Why do they always find the one key I'm looking for? [Fade out.] ------------------------------------------------------------------------ King of the Cruisers Tournament participant: "Playboy" Ronnie D [EMWC] ------------------------------------------------------------------------ [We open up to a shot of a swimming pool. The sun shines on the rippling water as children gleefully splash and swim in it, throwing balls around and screaming "Marco," and "Polo," at the tops of their lungs. Suddenly, a man wearing red trunks and a white-and-red striped muscle shirt, a towel around his neck and a bullhorn in hand walks beside the pool, disrupting the peace. The man with sandy brown hair and the red trunks is none other than the icon, the marquee man, the originator and the innovator, the god of wrestling... "Playboy" Ronnie D! He starts barking over the bullhorn...] RD: ALL RIGHT! _EVERYBODY_ OUT! NOW! You, you, and especially that little fat kid! Hey, fatty! [The little round child that Ronnie is berating tries to swim for the edge of the pool, but is having a hard time. In fact, all he's really doing is breathing and floating. He looks at Ronnie as Ronnie continues to talk to him. He slowly makes progress towards the edge.] RD: Fatty, when your parents tied a pork chop around your neck so that the dog would play with you, I'll bet you ate it! And I'll bet you ate the chop, too! [Ronnie cackles as the child, visibly upset, crawls over the edge of the pool. He's about to run away, but Ronnie talks him into staying.] RD: Hey, kid... I got something for ya. [The child's interest is piqued. He looks at Ronnie, expecting a gift.] RD: Turn around and I'll give it to ya... [The child turns his back to Ronnie as Ronnie dips his towel into the pool. Ronnie twists the sopping towel out, but keeps a bit of water in it. Just enough water to make it heavy.] RD: You sure you want it, kid? You want the surprise present? Fat kid: YES! GIMME GIMME GIMME! RD: [Under his breath] Too easy... [Ronnie snaps the towel back, and sends it flying forth, hitting the fat kid squarely on his plump rump! The kid yelps loudly and runs away, crying as Ronnie laughs. As soon as all the kids are out of sight, Ronnie peels off his muscle shirt and dives into the pool. He swims for a bit, getting his hair wet, and then he returns to the edge of the pool, which he leans against. He gives a big grin to the camera, a Hollywood grin, not a Grizzly Grin, and then begins speaking.] RD: Yeah, Big Greggy, it's the Fonz, live and in Technicolor. You know, I was thinking about what you said about me on Friday... You know, "cool in a high school sense..." I just got to thinkin'... What's a kid who's barely out of high school doing puttin' it down? But I digress, 'cause that's not what the script says. No, I want to tell you, yes YOU, Big Greggy about my latest meeting with the brass... heads. I want to tell you that I, the icon, am looking out for you, the Marilyn Maggot fanboy. Yes, I went to have a chat with my good buddies Gregg, that's two G's, Ian, that's one N, and Dan, that's one N, too. I asked that they make sure this match is called right down the line... Well, why don't I just show the footage, as those miracle men in the backroom always seem to have some fancy... [We fade away from the pool and to the magical place they call the Corner Office, where the Ian Jalbert look-alike, the Gregg Osterhout look-alike and Ron Jeremy, posing as Dan Spreadbury, and the icon, "Playboy" Ronnie D sit. Something about the Jalbert look-alike looks a slight bit different, and when he looks towards the camera, it is fairly obvious that it is not the normal Jalbert look-alike, but in reality porn actor Tom Byron made-up to look like Ian Jalbert! The resemblance is... Striking. Four scantily-clad redheaded girls walk out of the office as all four men straighten their ties. Gregg's shirt is buttoned up funny, and Tom... er... Ian's suit is on inside-out. "Dan" speaks first...] DS: So, Ronnie, what was your concern? RD: Well... I was worried that, well, seeing as Greggy isn't as friendly with you as I am, that I might not get by him in the tournament based solely on my own merits... DS: Elaborat -- GREGG! [Gregg Osterhout removes his hand from a bowl of Butterfinger that sit on the oak desk.] DS: I'm sorry, Ronnie. I forgot to offer you a Butterfinger. RD: Oh, no... No thanks. I couldn't. DS: Don't you want some of that flaky, peanutty goodness? RD: Well, now that you mention it... [Ronnie reaches in and grabs a Butterfinger, as do Ian and Dan. Gregg doesn't make a move. Dan looks at him funny.] DS: Gregg, help yourself. [Gregg's face lights up as Dan pushes the glass bowl towards him. As Gregg reaches for a chocolate bar, Dan quickly snaps the bowl back, as he and Ian share a good laugh. Ronnie laughs along a tad nervously.] DS: You were saying? RD: Ummm... Yes. I was worried that because of the people Big Greggy's people associate themselves with, that you might judge our match a little... Unfairly. IJ: AHAHAHAHAHA! How funny! We'd never award a win to someone based on our dislike for their opponent! _Never..._ Unless that camera's off. In that case, remember that Mexican guy? GO: Actually, it's on. IJ: Damnit! DS: We can edit that out. RD: So, ummm... Will you judge this match fairly? DS/IJ/GO: OHHHHHHHHH... DS: Of course, we'll make sure there is "no bias." IJ: No sir, we wouldn't _ever_ do anything despicable like that. Heh heh. RD: That's not exactly what I mean -- DS: DAMNIT, GREGG! Leave those DAMNED chocolates alone! [Gregg turns away from the meeting, and some quiet sobbing is heard.] RD: Look, you hurt his feelings. DS: Gregg... Gregg... Would you like to show us a magic trick. GO: NO! DS: He does this all the time... Gregg, do you really want a Butterfinger? GO: Yes... DS: Have one, then. [Gregg quickly snatches a chocolate bar from teh bowl and wolfs it down.] IJ: [Whispering] He's very moody... GO: I HEARD THAT, YOU SOB! _ROT IN HELL!_ IJ: [Whispering quieter] See? DS: Well, we're out of time, Ronnie, so you have our FULL promise that this match will be called "right down the middle." Heh heh. RD: But... But that's... Ah, hell! [All four get up and shake hands, grins all around. We fade out to Ronnie drying off outside of the pool.] RD: Greggy, as you can see, I went in there and stuck up for a fellow competitor. If that's not honourable, well then, I don't know what is. [Ronnie dries behind his ears.] RD: So you better thank the icon, the marquee man, the Fonz... Greggy. [Ronnie throws the towel over the lens to end this segment.] ------------------------------------------------------------------------ King of the Cruisers Tournament participant: "Iconoclast" Sean Watts [SCRA] ------------------------------------------------------------------------ [The camera pans back slowly from the King of the Cruisers vinyl banner from which many interviews have been set against so far. A relieved Sean Watts is seated on a stool before it, the edge of one hand rubbing against a bit of stubble on his chin.] SW: Well, I was wrong. Wrong about Spector. He's got more color than I have him credit for. And a hell of a lot more guts than I gave him credit for. If the situations had been reversed, I'm not sure if I would have kept on going on or not. Courage like that means something, no matter whether you like a man or not. Conviction sure as hell is worth something. That's all I got to say. [And with that, Sean slides off the stool before making his way off the camera, the scene fading to black only a moment after.] ------------------------------------------------------------------------ King of the Cruisers Tournament participant: Big Greggy Cool [NPWA] ------------------------------------------------------------------------ [The scene opens up with Big Greggy Cool wearing a decently nice pin stripe suit and his medium length curly brown hair is slicked back. He's standing behind a podium with "IIWF" written on the bottom. Reporters are in the crowd with their little tape thingies. BGC smirks and begins with it.] BGC: I called this press conference to talk about some comments which I made around last Friday. Actually this is talking about the comments which I did not in fact make. Some little hoodlum made some comments calling the IIWF "The Evil Empire" and the "pinnacle of that's wrong". But that was just a voice dub on my last interview to make me look really really bad. This is a big time conspiracy! [Low rumbling and chatter is heard from the reporters.] BGC: Quiet now. Now, I had a long list of enemies that'd want to do this to me. [BGC holds up a sheet of paper.] BGC: All these people might have tried to soil my reputation. It came down to Margaret Thatcher, that girl that I dumped in 8th grade Sarah Malloy, that stinky kid I made fun of on TV last year, and the one who I think is responsible. Now we all know who has this sort of ability. The only man who can set up a hidden camera on his breast pocket... Technology that's not readily available to you and me! Of course I'm talking about Ronnie D. Someone who recklessly, without any moral or ethical problems, can attack the good name of Daniel Spreadbury. A name that went untarnished through his whole stint of President of IIWF operations. I'm asking that Ronnie D. a man with the conscience of that stuff you find in the screen of a door. I will bring him to justice as a true IIWF Patriot. [BGC shakes his head.] BGC: J.D. Salinger said that sometimes we may become sickened with human behaviour. Right now I'm at my wit's end. This next match, I _dedicate_ to the good, hard working, god fearing, tax paying, red blooded IIWF-ers! Good Day! [BGC flashes that smirk again as the scene fades out.] +=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= 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 -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=+