C + O + U + N + T + D + O + W + N T + O ________ ______ __ ____ ___ __ . _ ___ | || |\ \ /\ / /| __| / /\ | | || \| \ /\ \ / |\ || / \| | | | || | \ v v / | __| \__ /__\ | | ||__/| |/__\ v | \||| __|-| | |_||_| \_/\_/ |_| \ \| v | \|__/ \| | || \_|| | | __________________________/..............\........|...|.......|....| with Larry Morton 8 May 1998 [The shot opens to see a new set. The backdrop has been completely redone to replace the damage done to the old one. The new chairs are large, over-stuffed, comfy chairs and instead of a low table in front, there is a sort of end-table between the new chairs. Sitting in his customary left-hand spot, is Larry Morton.] LM: Welcome one and all to this week's edition of Countdown to IIWF Saturday Night! This is our new set, nestled in the heart of Portland's IIWF studios and ready for yet another exciting guest host! I don't think this week's host will destroy the set...but we shouldn't assume! Tomorrow is the last edition of IIWF Saturday Night before our big Birthday Bash spectacular and it is a doozy! No less than 38 IIWF superstars will grace the ring tomorrow night so we better get to the matches so we can fit them all in! ________ ______ | || |\ \ /\ / /| __|.................................................. | || | \ v v / | __| REWIND: IIWF Wednesday War Room - 6 May 1998 |_||_| \_/\_/ |_|.................................................... ~ Steve Sampson def. Scott "the Whine" Bloom ~ Robert Donovan def. Bobby B. Goode ~ The Machines def. the Barnacle Brothers ~ "Vagabond" Chris Staley def. El Super Gecko ~ The Smooth def. Eddy "Flap" Jacks via count-out ~ Charles Scheffield def. Christopher Stonebreaker ~ "Sanguinary" Steve Manning def. "Real Deal" Luke Steele ~ The Baddest Thangs Running def. Fabulous Ones via count-out LM: What an exciting finish to a great show! We saw the entire roster of IIWF tag teams head down to ringside! The IIWF tag scene seems poised to explode and it's hard to say who will be left to pick up the pieces! Now it's time to bring out my guest host for the... [From out of the corner of the room, a cameraman is sent flying. Marty appears, cursing, threatening to open a can of whoopee-gas. He flips index fingers at everybody in view. His appearance is very much different, in that he's wearing a bald skullcap, and an obviously fake goatee. His T-Shirt reads "Quigley Fears The Highwayman" on the front, and when he turns, "Quigley 3:16: I just jobbed your ass" can be seen. He sits next to Morton. ] MW: Hell, Morton. Why don't you just sit there and shut up? You see, the suits right now are really starting to piss me off, little man. Osterhout, "Marty, please shoot, it helps the ratings," Spreadbury, "try not to be too offensive or infringe copyright."" Do I infringe? Gimme a "Hell, yeah." Do I offend? "Hell, yeah." Bottom line, son, is I just parodied your ass. [Marty removes his skullcap, revealing his long, dark hair.] MW: So, how ya doin' Morty, baby? LM: I'm... uh... okay. It seems like you have some issues with a number of... unusual targets. What do you have agianst our vice-president? MW: Well, you see, Gregg's an ex-wrestler, didn't really have much of a career, handed a few titles on a plate just to make sure he didn't do a Quigley... you can see his frustration at every card, that he not only couldn't cut the mustard, but had problems opening the jar. On the phone all the time, Marty this, Marty that, Marty I wanna make a drugs bust, please, Marty wear this outfit, Marty, why does LaRue prefer you? Sheesh, get some self-respect, man! LM: So you don't think VP Osterhaut is in much danger of replacing our current president as head of the company. What is your take on President Spreadbury? MW: As silent as a fart, and just as deadly... you ever seen him around? Sure, he's on TV, but in his office? Come contract time, he's as empty as Soundbite's head. He's an okay guy, though, at least he will be once I get those merchandise royalties... and no, Morton, for the last time, of that foam product, it AIN'T a middle finger standing up. LM: Well, I...my word. ________ ______ | || |\ \ /\ / /| __|.................................................. | || | \ v v / | __| PREVIEW: IIWF Saturday Night - 9 May 1998 |_||_| \_/\_/ |_|.................................................... LM: We have one heck of a card coming your way tomorrow night, featuring a lot of great stars and two matches to fill out the remainder of the Birthday Bash roster... like "who faces Marty Marnett at the PPV?" ------------------------------------------------------------------------ "Lethal Protector" Serge Annis, "Vagabond" Chris Staley, Tiger Claw & Icehawk vs. "To Excess" Rick Williams, Derek Mota, "Enigma" Takezo Musashi & Deathbringer ------------------------------------------------------------------------ LM: What a main event! Annis and Musashi have clashed over who gets to face Kowalski at the Bash...and it's Annis who gets the honour of facing the champ. This is really important because, in the shape Kowalksi is in, whoever fights him has to be the favorite to take home the gold! MW: Kowalski? Hey, I've wrestled the guy, and beaten the guy. One tough mouth, one tough hombre. His schedule is punishing, hell, he defends more than Macbeth ever did, and maybe one day that ego'll cause him to lose the belt. Whatever happens at Birthday Bash, Musashi will always be there; with his body hurt, having a crazy, dangerous guy like that out there, he'll have to keep raising his game every bout. Or drink a lot. LM: But can Serge Annis beat him? MW: Let's see, Morton. Annis comes in, states he's the "Epitome of Evil," wrestles some crazy bouts. Did that get him anywhere? No. Joins Genesis, gets anywhere? No. Becomes more... restrained, keeping to the spirit of "Wrestle Clean!" Get him anywhere? No. Serves burger and fries at the local Burgers-R-Us, get him anywhere? No. Serge, right now, is getting to Last Chance saloon, kinda like I was a while ago. He has his shot, a good chance of upsetting Kowalski, and an upset it would be. Sure, it apppears he's sold out... but I think that we're seeing the calm before the storm. LM: Of course, on the other side of the ring, we will see the other man who wants a piece of the champ, the Enigma. MW: The only worse thing than a crazy guy... is a crazy little guy with martial arts training. I mean, who knows what goes on in his mind? Hell, it's rumoured he's even planning to interfere in one of his own bouts... I expect him to interfere in every bout I wrestle. LM: He's not the only one with amazing martial arts expertise in this match...Annis has the unpredictable Tiger Claw on his team! MW: It's always nice to see one of the old breed of IIWF grapplers... many have tried to take their place, but there's still a void people like Claw fill. Again, another tough, martial artist, every bit as crazy as Musashi, but in a more calculating manner. He's shown he can do without the Syndicate, but I just wonder... nah. Not enough girl scouts here. LM: One of the wild cards thrown into the mix has to be "Vagabond" Chris Staley. I'm sure no one expected him to be in a main event this fast! MW: Don't really know too much able him to comment... or care.... Give him credit, he's come in, seen what you need to do to make your name, targeted a tough guy. LM: Deathbringer is certainly that! He is so incredibly...driven. MW: Lemme guess, his sister was burnt alive in a funeral home, caused by Deathbringer trying to light his own farts? Hey, Osterhout, you use that, you gimme the credit, pal -- that's MY idea... LM: Uh...anyway...what about the last member on Annis' side...Icehawk. MW: Sheesh, what do ya want me to say? When you're 4-D, you're 4-D for life, and it's just too damn sweet. Pay me per lawsuit Spreadbury receives. LM: The only ones left in this match are the latest grapplers calling themselves the Coalition, Rick Williams and Derek Mota. MW: Two tough egomaniacs, but you know what, Morton? I don't know which one of the two will perform the double-cross first... LM: This match will have more action than you will see on a month's worth of competing wrestling shows! Let's hear from some of the competitors! [Fade up on the tripod camera of Chris Staley. Staley looks his usual angry self. His dirty blonde hair seems to be a little darker than usual. He wears a shirt that reads "Dave Bacon: The only reason abortion still exists." He turns around and spits before finally talking:] CS: So, I'm damn boring, am I? Try telling that to my face next Wednesday. That's not a threat. That's a promise. If you're so [beep]ing smart, why don't YOU tell me what the hell I can do to be interesting!?! Enough garbage, I've got quite a bit of crap that I need to unload about. First, the eight man tag. Annis, I'm gonna tell ya RIGHT now, if you pull anything, I swear I'll kill you, and NOBODY will be able to pull me off. Icehawk, I got no qualms with you. Just don't try to buddy up to me. It'll cost ya. And as for Claw, believe me, I feel the same way you do. And I do mean that. And as for the losing team, you will know what pain is all about. The Pandora's box of madness has opened and the orgy of violence and pain has only just begun. Deathbringer, I'm warning you, tread lightly, for you never know what will strike from the darkness. Derek Mota, well, I'm just gonna have to kill ya because you have no sense of loyalty whatsoever. And for all sickening atrocities you have committed in the past, you must, and SHALL, pay. Rick Williams. You're just in the way, along with the fact that you're a rotten piece of trailer trash with no decency. And then there's Musashi. [A grin forms on Staley's face] CS: You intrigue me, Chaotic One. You take the bull by the horns and you aren't sorry about hurting anyone that tries to get in your path of chaos and destruction. Nice to see SOMEBODY'S got cajones in this stinkin' fed. So sorry that I will have to ruin your life. Now, I need to speak to a few other people. First, there's Tragedy. Tragedy, you're a very impressive competitor. I believe I could benefit from having you as an accomplice. Talk to me. I have VERY impressive plans. You won't be sorry. Then comes Scheffield. Chuckie, don't get pissed at me just because I tell the truth. Wow, you've beaten Deadboy! So what?! It was a freakin' countout. I was just trying to talk to you. Sorry if I'm wasting you're damn precious time! And Valtharius, don't think I've forgotten. I will step into the ring with you eventually. I never forget. One last note. IIWF, you've mad a bad decision by ignoring me. You WILL all pay. And it'll happen sooner than you think. For now, [beep] off and have a bad day. [BZZZZZT] [SCENE: A quiet room with a large screen television mounted in one wall. Scenes from last Saturday Night's card are shown... At the moment, Claw's attack on Musashi and his following speech are being displayed. The camera pans over, and we see Tiger Claw sitting in a chair, watching... The scene on the television shows Musashi getting up and attacking Claw as he basks in the heel pop. Claw pauses the footage.] TC: Musashi... Musashi, you selfish little bastard. There I was, explaining my cause. Letting the people know what I was trying to accomplish... For _them._ Leading the way into a bright new future... My cause... My cause... Every cause needs a martyr, Musashi, and you were to be that martyr. Every cause needs a man to lay his life on the line, to suffer in order to lend the cause strength. To give himself up for the greater good... You couldn't do that, could you? It's just typical of modern life, isn't it? Selfishness. Just as it is throughout the entire world today. Everyone is more concerned about their little pocket of the universe than they are about the greater good. Instead of trying to solve a problem, they want to make sure the blame doesn't fall off of them. The symbol for this generation should be a pointed finger at a scapegoat. With that one act of selfishness, Musashi, my hopes and dreams... My _cause_ crumbled. It lost it's momentum. No, it's not dead... Just slowed. But it's a cause that can't afford to be slowed. The problem must be solved. There's nothing I can do about it now, though. The wheels are grinding to a halt, and there's only one thing I can do. Make you pay. First it was a favour to a friend, Musashi... Then I took it upon myself to seize the moment... To give you the honour of furthering a cause that would have changed the face of the sport forever. I wanted to give you the prestige of being a martyr... And now... All I want to give you is a severe concussion and some broken bones. I can still use you, Musashi... To show the world what happens to those who defy me. Instead of a martyr, you'll be an example. And I get a chance Saturday Night... Although the path is obstructed... Instead of just you and I in the ring, there's six other men... Six men I don't care too much for. You're teamed with Deathbringer, a man I've fought with in the past... Rick Williams. A man who led the Coalition in the NLWP, the stable that stood in the way of the Syndicate. You're teamed with Derek Mota... A man who helped start the New Gen movement which was the beginning of the dark ages of the IIWF... I don't have any love for your partners. I don't really like my partners that much either... Serge Annis and Icehawk... Two main members of the New Gen movement I mentioned earlier. Icehawk still trying to make a name for himself in another second rate stable, still making excuses for losing the tag titles to me and a friend after two solid pinfalls. At least Serge Annis is man enough to stand on his own. He's still a putz, but an independent putz. And Charles Scheffield... Yet again, a guy in the wrong place and wrong time. Don't expect me to be all smiles and chuckles with you three. You're all just standard bearers for the very thing I'm against. The IIWF seems to want to keep putting me in these tag matches with people I don't want to team with. If that's what it's going to take, so be it. One way or another, my cause will gain momentum again, and we can again stride forth as the proud. There's nothing that can stop a man that knows his destiny... Especially when that man is me. [Claw waves off the camera, which pans around back to the television screen. Displayed is more footage from Saturday Night of Tiger Claw being dragged away from Musashi. Claw struggles against the JJS, a wild look in his eyes, almost foaming at the mouth as he roars the words, "I'll kill you, little man... I'll destroy you!" Fade.] [Scene opens to a shot of nothing but a clear blue sky. Only the slightest sounds of traffic are audible as the camera slowly pans to ground level, to reveal a large scenic park in downtown Portland. Across the street, in the background, stands the unmistakable building known as the IIWF HQ. After several seconds of relatively little activity, the instantly recognizable figure of "To Excess" Rick Williams strides into view. Dressed in blue jeans, black boots and a white T-shirt, the Minneapolis native chews that seemingly ever-present stick of gum, as he rubs his handstogether in mock glee. Evidently in joyful mood, he begins to speak.] RW: Well, whoop de doo, seven months since last time, but "To Excess" is back in the main event. Ain't I just Mr. Popular? You know, I guess I must be doin' something right -- First, I get Sampson at Birthday Bash and now _this_... Wow, am I the flavour of the month, or what? [Chuckling at such a thought, Williams spits the stick of gum in the direction of the camera -- narrowly missing -- before almost immediately replacing it with another.] Well, I woulda thought so, had it not been for the lame-ass match dear old Dan decided to stick me in. I mean an eight-man tag? "To Excess" is the best singles wrestler that ever put pen to paper in that nice building over there, bar none. Yet I'm dumped with a washed-up freak like Deathbringer and a guy who gets World Title shots a couple of weeks after losing to Icehawk. How am I supposed to team with these guys? Seriously? And as for Mota... well, Mota I can understand.... Well, Dan, I'll show up tomorrow night, but that's all I'm promising. You see, these days, I don't care about making a match the best on the card... because you don't care about giving me what I deserve. These days, I care about Rick Williams and The Coalition. So, if I decide to walk out halfway through, that's just what I'll do. Hell, Derek... we might even go for that beer after all... Just don't count on it. [Fade.] [SCENE: Behind the mortuary. Deathbringer is standing with his back to the stone-built hall, wearing a cowl and holding a scythe in the right hand. In his left he has a black book at which he's staring with his piercing red eyes. As the camera closes in, the Dark Destroyer looks up, puts the scythe against the wall very slowly and then begins to speak in his low, growling voice] DB: Some people say fortune tellers are just telling lies. They are said to play games with their clients, trying to get as much money from them as possible... Maybe this is true... But fact is: Many of those seers never want to get any money for their wisdom, many of them never become known... Are those the true fortune tellers? Are those the mortals, who are _really_ able to look behind the things, who are _really_ able to take a look at the dark side? Maybe they are... [Deathbringer raises his left hand in which he's still holding the black book. He opens it and seems to be browsing through it's contents as he continues to speak] DB: What I have got here is one of the Books Of History... This is one of those books, written by someone unknown... Today we cannot not even prove, whether this unknown creature was a pure mortal or a superior god... But this shall not be of any importance... What _is_ important, however, is the fact, that everything written in this book has turned out to be true... This book told me about what would happen last Saturday Night... This book told me about the interference of... well, you know who you are... In fact, this book tells everything about anything that will happen here in the IIWF in the near future... [Deathbringer stops talking, but continues to browse through the book. After a while, he seems to have found an interesting part in it] DB: Everyone s concerned about the health of one Steve Kowalski... Yes, I am talking about the Kowalski who, at the hands of the Reaper, suffered some severe injuries, who, by the decision of death, was taken to hospital, unconscious, but still breathing... Everyone is concerned... but I can tell you one thing... the Fury will survive my vicious attack, he will return to action... and he will defend his title at Birthday Bash... _HOWEVER_... there might be a little surprise at the PPV anyway... [pause] DB: I am not known to be a man of many words... and I am especially not known to be a man who praises other wrestlers... But what _you_ did last week, Kowalksi, might have been one of the most valiant acts I have ever seen... During my long years of participating in many of those so-called great wrestling leagues I have only encountered a couple of men who did survive the Burial... I encountered even less who after that were able to withstand another five minutes... But I never ever encountered anyone who would have executed his own finisher on me afterwards... Now do not get me wrong... The Skullpump did not knock me out... and how could a mortal move knock me out... you just caught me by surprise... But still, last week on Saturday Night you certainly proved one thing: Steve "The Fury" Kowalski is possibly the greatest champion ever in the IIWF... except me, of course... And I am proud to announce to all of you today, that I am going to continue your legacy, Kowalski... No matter who will be the champion after Birthday Bash... Listen to me now: I already demand a match against you... Honor and pride... just the two of us... and may the better man win... [The Blind Guardian enters the scene from the left, stopping a few feet away from Deathbringer. He's dressed in his usual attire] BG: Nice chosen words, big man... But isn't there something you forgot? Something that might be more important right now? Maybe something that has to do with that preliminary wrestler who jumped you from behind and whom you'll face tomorrow night? [Deathbringer turns towards the Blind Guardian and shrugs] DB: Whoever that might be, Guardian... He is not half the man Kowalski is... And you saw what I did to him last week... No, there is no threat out there... At least I cannot see it... [With these words, Deathbringer leaves the scene and leave the Blind Guardian behind, who turns towards the camera and shrugs] BG: Somehow he still scares me... [Fade as the Blind Guardian leaves the scene.] ------------------------------------------------------------------------ King of the Cruisers Semi-final Match: "Playboy" Ronnie D vs. Big Greggy Cool ------------------------------------------------------------------------ LM: Sean Watts will be watching this match with some anticipation to find out who he will be facing at Birthday Bash in the King of the Cruisers final! Which one of these talented, yet unusual men will be able to get the jod done. MW: I don't care. LM: What? MW: If it ain't IIWF, I don't care. LM: Aren't you yourself involved in an inter-fed tournament, the WCoW? MW: I'm damn proud to have been invited, and I'm damn proud to be competing representing the dubba-eye, 4-D and myself. Pity Dunky Macbeth had to withdraw... but, I'll give it my best shot, and hopefully I can hold up the IIWF end. Mind, hope that doesn't upset LaRue.... LM: Despite the apparent contradiction there, let's move on to comments from Big Greggy Cool. [The scene opens up with Big Greggy Cool on a pay phone somewhere in Portland, Oregon, he back pack on the ground right next to the pay phone. He's wearing beaten up old Pumas, long jeans with holes in the knees, a baggy sweater, and a chain around his neck connected by a master lock. BGC's medium length brown curly hair is let down freely. BGC throws in a quarter and a dime on the public phone.] BGC: Hello... Portland Police Department.... I'd like to report a vicious crime that was committed last Monday. A crime that was done out of the pure bastardness of the wrong-doer. [BGC bends over and picks his back pack off the ground and digs in pulling out two video tapes.] BGC: And I've got all the evidence a brotha ever needed in these two video tapes in my right hand. [One tape is the first half of Ronnie D's Monday Musing, and the other tape is the second half!] BGC: I'm the criminal's brother and I feel he's going to have many more violent out breaks until he can get the help he needs from a good... Or really bad state hospital. You need to lock his ass up real good, sir. His name is Ronnie D. The crime? He pushed some little butterball into a pool with a wet towel. A real stinger. Now the kid who he nailed was defenseless.... By the way, that's how Jack The Ripper started. Oh yeah... Snapping towels, I see a serious pattern that needs to be examined. What?! Why don't you get off your arse and do something?! Ummm... Well, is being really really really boring a crime too? He can turn a "one hundred word speech" into his own sit com. Listening to him speak is about as fun as a cross country road trip with a broken radio. Uh huh... Well in that case there was a gun involved too! Look, I'm Ronnie D's brother. He needs help, he needs to be off the streets. You don't even have to do it legally! Just get a big mini van and have guys jump out and beat the crap out of him and haul him away. I won't tell.... [The large man in back of Big Greggy Cool is starting to get frustrated and very very irritated at this long old phone call.] MAN: C'mon boy, get off the phone. There's many uses of a telephone and a number of tight fitting areas it can be placed in. [BGC covers the phone with his hand and looks at the man.] BGC: Don't you know who I am?! MAN: Yeah, you're that little skinny kid from the New Kids On The Block. BGC: Well I'm flattered, I'm actually not but I'm considering a career in music since I've got 'the look' and.... MAN: Get your no talent Sid Vicious arse out of here! [BGC gulps and hangs up the phone and starts away.] BGC: Nobody understands out there. Nobody knows the serious threat that Ronnie D is to the way of life. The police don't see, that awfully large man behind me didn't. I guess somehow I was _blessed_ with a vision. The vision of who sucks and who doesn't. And since no one wants to take care of 'the IIWF's cancer', ahhh shucks, unfortunately _i_ will. The only thing worse than having to do a job... Is having to do it yourself. But I guess if Darwin knew anything, Ronnie D. will just continue to be another victim. [BGC shakes his head at the thought of Ronnie D.] BGC: I completely understand this match is the battle between the righteous and the wicked. And of course being one step away from saint hood I feel I know I'm on the good side. I've errored a couple times not making the wisest of choices. I admit that. But my intentions are always good. I've learned through my mistakes. Can Ronnie D. ever say he did half the heroic stuff I did? Like that one time where I saved that family from a burning building. Of course I started that fire with a bottle rocket and a roman candle, but that's another story. The key is, I'm prepared to right the wrong. I'm luck enough to what needs to happen even if other people are blind to the facts. And fighting on the right side of grace will bring me the inspiration to win. Plus win or lose I can go to the Saturday Night after party and get to hit on Andrew Macbeth's wife! What a hotty! Plus I can see that 'friend' of Daniel Spreadbury. She's kinda hot too. She's only his intern but she goes everywhere with him! Good thing Mrs. Spreadbury doesn't know about her, she just might get a little jealous.... [BGC gets an idea into his head then walks back to the telephone he was just on. He dials a couple quick numbers and...] BGC: Hi Linda! He's not in? Well tell Daniel that I have a little proposition for him.... [BGC gets a sly smirk as the scene fades out.] ------------------------------------------------------------------------ IIWF Intercontinental Tournament Semi-final Match: "Rocket Man" Timothy N. Turner vs. "The Savior" Simon Lebec ------------------------------------------------------------------------ LM: Here we have the amtch that will decide who faces you at Birthday Bash for the Intercontinental Championship. Who will it be, Turner or Lebec? MW: Turner, the rocket man. Done well to get this far, but ultimately, he's a cruiserweight. Lebec, been there, done that, pinned his ass. What do I think? People should start worrying about me, rather than believing I'm gonna roll over and die. There's bound to be outside interference, I mean, Black Watch have a problem with both of them. Maybe they'll cause them both to be counted out, giving me the title. After all, Spreads does hate me wrestling at Birthday Bash's... sure, Marty, you can sing your cute little song, just as long as it doesn't upset Quigs TOO much.... LM: You still haven't gotten over Chris Quigley and now Turner says if he wins the match he will find Quigley and give him a shot. MW: Now, some people think I'm obsessed.... people think I'm bitter. I just wanna ask people out there one question. Chris Quigley, does anybody care where he is? I mean, we hear he's retired, oh, but he's made a return to a competition. Hello, Earth to planet Ego, get another job... oops, wrong word there, Chris. LM: It seems the only people who like Quigley as little as you do are Steve Roberts and Steve Manning. MW: Another pseudo-psycho, no doubt influenced by Quigley over a bottle of whine at the Manning household, I just can't put my finger where I remember him from; he seems a bit wild outside the ring, I keep expecting him to be found in a hotel room the day of a PPV. LM: Before we get to the comments from the competitors...I have to say your win over Shadoe Rage had to be a bit of an upset. What do you think? MW: A tough, tough guy, we had one hell of a bout. But, you know, yet again somebody in the dubba-eye underestimated me. Did he really think that there'd be no interference? That he'd try ANYTHING to win? I have a mind, I just outfoxed him. LM: Both Lebec and Turner had comments for the camera and the rumours were flying around the studio that Turner has a major announcement for us. [The shot opens in Timothy Turner's apartment in VIctoria, B.C. The view is magnificent as it overlooks the Inner Harbour at the B.C. Provincial Legislature. Timothy Turner is sitting on a long sofa while his brother, Tom paces back and forth. Akira sits nearby, in silence.] CTT: I just think you are making a big mistake. I mean it's one thing to...just don't do it, Tim. TNT: Listen to you! If you had it your way, I would still be kowtowing to our old man and living his life rather than mine! Like you did! CTT: Give me a break! Our life wasn't so bad back home! TNT: Speak for yourself. CTT: Come on! Why can't you just let it lie? TNT: Because the lie has gone on to far! It's time for me to speak up and stand up for myself and for everybody who.... CTT: Don't even... TNT: You won't even let me say it! Be ready, brother, because tomorrow on IIWF Saturday Night, the world will know! So, I need to know. Are you supporting me? CTT: I'm your brother, Tim. I'll be there. [Akira suddenly stands up.] AS: As will I. This so-called "Savior" won't know what hit him. [A slow smile creeps onto the Rocket Man's face. Fade.] [Camera opens with "The Savior" Simon Lebec, sitting in a chair, gazing out the window as he smokes a cigarette. Lebec is wearing a "Wrestle Hard" T-shirt and a pair of cut-off jean shorts. He looks into the camera, his face obviously aged and battered from his recent battles] SL: M' daddy once told me. He said," Son, now ya watch out fer them whores. Ya watch out! 'Cause if they find out that ya own yer own couch... they gonna wanna sit an' stay a while. An'... an' if they be findin' out that ya got yer own coat hangers... then they gonna wanna, ya know, hang up th' coat an' keep ya company. Well boy, ya just tell 'em ta leave their suitcases in th' mailbox... 'cause they won't be stayin' fer long." [Lebec puffs on his smoke] An' as I reflect, I realize that he just weren't talkin' 'bout no whores that yer gonna pick up at th' pool hall... but he was talkin' 'bout every single person in this here world. [Lebec points to the camera] 'Cause everyone's a whore. Lookin' ta get what they can from ya. Lookin' fer a piece o' th' action an' not payin' the price o' admission. Yessir. An' Marty Warnett an' lil' Timmy Turner ain't no different. They want what should be mine... an' that's th' Intercontinental belt. Shoulda been mine at Ring Wars. [Lebec puffs his smoke] But it ain't no worry. I got me Turner tomorrow night, an' Warnett th' followin' week. Talk 'bout a tough road ahead? [Lebec shakes his head] Nah. 'Cause I got me a mailbox big 'nuff fer two [Camera fades as Lebec winks to the camera.] ------------------------------------------------------------------------ The Baddest Thangs Running vs. Steve Sampson & Robert Donovan ------------------------------------------------------------------------ LM: Will Turner's announcement be as shocking as the revelation of the death of Justin Gaines...or as shocking as the revelation that it was all a lie? MW: Caleb Temple, if it turns out his dad is really a radio host with supernatural powers, give me that release form, immediately. As for Gaines, well, this comment covers Petrow too. I have a cousin who had a miscarriage, she and her husband had been trying for ages to have a child ... when they found out she was expecting, they were over the moon. When she lost the baby, they were devastated, and I just felt helpless, there was nothing I could do or say to ease their pain. You guys wanna turn something personal like that into an angle, a series of lies? All I can say, Gaines, if you want to drag the IIWF down into Bush league status, that's up to you. You, Petrow, Steele and the suits that approved that angle, class acts, guys, that's what you really are. LM: So, do you think the new duo of Sampson and Donovan can overcome them? MW: Don't know enough to comment ... or care ... LM: Let's hear from Gaines, Temple, and Sampson. [SCENE: Sunset. The Gaines family home in West Portland is shown shilhouetted against the sunset from a helicopter shot. Cut to the inside of the home. We see the infamous Gunnar Gaines trophy wall. Many heads are mounted there. Hellshock. Silencer. The Dark Destroyer of EWA fame. Maniacal Mailman. Jimmy "Meatman" Steele. Shawn Adams. Hollywood. And a chicken's head is mounted with the name "Super Scott" inscribed below it.] VO1: Waaaaaaaaaaaahhhhh! VO2: Shhhhhhh ... [The camera pans down to show a loveseat below the trophy wall. Seated there are Cheryl Gaines, who gave voice-over two, and in her lap, little Justin Gaines, who gave voice-over one. Next to them, of course, is the large, bearded, ponytailed, smirking man known the world over as Gunnar "Grizzly" Gaines.] GGG: Family values. _Gaines_ family values. Building a home. _Defending_ a home. Helping family. Helping _friends_. [He turns and makes google-faces at little Justin, who laughs right back. He touches the kid on the tip of his nose with his index finger. One cannot help but notice: the kid is wearing his "I outsmarted the Meatman" t-shirt.] GGG: Robert Donovan... _everyone_ knows, even dumb fart stains like you, that you don't need a God damn reason to get in the ring and tangle with the Baddest Thang Running, namely me. That's because I'll take on anyone, at any time. Look at the wall here. I beat and humiliated all of them. Some had reasons... some didn't. And after listening to the moronic reason _you_ gave on Monday for wanting to get your butt kicked by me and my friend Caleb Temple... [He tries to stifle a hearty guffaw, but just can't.] GGG: Son, you're better off not _having_ a reason. You see, Moronovan, I did what I did to the Meatman for a _reason_ -- a reason you failed to notice, or one you just plain forgot. So now you're "mad" at me in an attempt to psych yourself up for the biggest, baddest, most prestigious opponent you have ever had. Well, let me tell you something, kiddo... [Gunnar puts his arm around his wife.] GGG: Meatman tried to poison _me_. He tried to poison my _wife_, and that also means that he tried to poison my _kid_. What he did was an attack on my _family_, and what I did about it was none of your God damn business, you little twerp. Now you want to make Gaines family business... _your_ business? You think _your_ values are better than _Gaines_ family values? [He laughs.] GGG: My kid really could have died, but like so many others, you never cried a single tear over it... crocodile or otherwise. So you can take your sanctimonious moral position, and you know exactly what you can do with it. Because if you want to make this about moral superiority, you lose. You wouldn't know morality if it kicked your ass... which, I assure you, it is certainly about to do. [He chuckles.] GGG: Hell. If you want to make it about _any_ kind of superiority, you lose, but particularly morality. I've got you either way. And then there's the other factors in this weekend's match. Caleb Temple and Steve Sampson. [smirking] Oh, I do believe we've seen _that_ one before. Good thing you and I are in this match, Moronovan... because the fans have seen Caleb beat the ever- loving crap out of Sampson so many times it's become an f'n cliche. I mean, I like Steve in a pat-him-on-the-head sort of way, but he was always outclassed by my friend... [Gunnar points off in some direction] GGG: ...right over there by the window. [Pan over to the window. Seated in a chair at the window is Caleb Temple. He is dressed in 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. He runs his fingers through his hair, sweeping it back and away from his face.] CT: "Love not the world, neither the things that are in the world. If any man love the world, the love of the Father is not in him." First John 2:15. [He turns his gaze back to the window, obviously lost in memories.] CT: I passed those words on to Steve Sampson last June as a warning. A warning which he did not heed. His ignorance cost him dearly. Let me give you a little history lesson, for those among you unfamiliar with what has gone between Steve Sampson and Caleb Temple. In January of 1997, Stacey Sampson came to me for help. Just weeks before, she had given birth to beautiful twins, a son and a daughter. But still, something was missing from her life. Stacey Sampson was missing a husband. [He strokes his beard.] CT: Oh, she was married. But her husband had personal goals of far greater worth than his wife and children. Her husband, Steve Sampson, valued his career above all else. He had made clear where his priorities lay. He left Stacey, Trey and Savannah behind as he sought the EWA North American title, a belt which he DID eventually win. But at a price. On the night he finally captured the title he so coveted, his wife gathered together her possessions and the children, and she left their home. Caleb Temple gave her shelter. Caleb Temple showed compassion for a fellow human in need, and he gave the lost flock a home. From that moment on, Steve Sampson made it his goal in life to persecute Caleb Temple. Forget his talk of "kidnapping". I kidnapped NO-ONE. What I _DID_, was become the father to Trey and Savannah that Steve Sampson showed no interest in being. [Behind Temple, appear Gunnar and Cheryl Gaines, standing. Cheryl, holding the baby, smiles sympathetically. Gunnar rests a hand on Caleb's shoulder.] CT: For six months, I took care of Steve Sampson's family, neither asking for, nor receiving, a single thing. But consumed by jealousy, or perhaps mere impotent rage, Steve Sampson continued to harass me. And so, I took it upon myself to teach Steve a very important lesson. I taught Steve Sampson about the value of family. Because I wanted his children to have the contented childhood that I was never afforded, I made Steve Sampson experience a loss that few should ever have to endure. For his greed-driven sins, he was robbed of the first six months of his childrens' lives. [A sly smile crosses his face.] CT: In the end, I think he almost understood. GGG: I don't know, Caleb. The man has switched women so many times... he's switched sides so many times... he's embarrassed himself so many times... _can_ someone so battered, so often overmatched, actually _learn_? If so, he's got the two Baddest teachers fixing to give the lesson this Saturday night. CT: We'll do this dance one last time, Steven. Once again, Caleb Temple is going to remind you of the importance of family values. GGG: That's right. When I tell you two twerps, Donovan and Sampson, that God is on our side here, it's not an f'n joke. Oh, it might be one to you... it's so _fashionable_ to consider Gunnar Gaines and Caleb Temple to be evil right now. But that's where no one understands. We are the _masters_ of family values. We are your _masters_, morally and athletically. And we are always willing to make the sacrifices to prove that. We are two men who _do_not_ care_... about your injuries OR ours. And at the end, when we're standing over your flattened carcasses, and I'm doing _this_... [Grizzly Grin] GGG: ...you'll know we're smiling the smile... of the _righteous_. AND, don't forget, of the victorious. You'll be two boys... just _defeated_ by two MEN. CT: Sampson, Donovan... tomorrow, the Baddest Thangs Running are going to beat you... GGG: ...because we _CAN_. [Another Grizzly Grin from Gunnar and a soft chuckle from Caleb. Pan over to a shot of young Justin, resting in Cheryl's arms. Oblivious to the threats issued, the values spoken of, the debates over morality, and the history between all of these men... he gives a babyish, unsteady laugh... filled with complete innocence and bliss as his mother continues to rock him in her arms. Fade.] [People walk by a building in the middle of Portland, Oregon. The dusty windows and rusted doors tell the tale of a building long since forgotten by most. Yet, those who once knew of the building tell tales of what went on inside. The camera slowly walks down a hallway with dusty pictures. The collection of dust hides the images of such Portland greats as Larry Gaines and the Logging Company, Tarot, and the last two pictures at the end of the hall; Gunnar Gaines and Steve Sampson. Both men are in their wrestling tights, about to face off. The date at the bottom of the picture is May 1st, 1997. The camera finishes coming down the hall, and enters the great expanse known as the Grapplearium. Dust is the only inhabitants of the seats, where once fans filled this arena. The ring looks dilapitated, and blood stains scatter the mat.] SS: Not exactly a palace, is it? Sure, the ring's old, and the seats are dusty, but I still call it home. [Walking in from the right side of the camera is Steve Sampson. Sampson, dressed in old sweatclothes which promoted this dead federation, rolls into the ring, and looks up to the crow's nest; a ten foot high platform where the announcers sat.] SS: They say, the more things change, the more things stay the same, and Spreadbury, god bless 'im, is obviously a firm believer in that. I mean, of all the matches in all the world he could schedule for my Coliseum debut, he picks a tag team matchup with Gunnar Gaines and Caleb Temple. [Sampson laughs for a second as he wipes off a rope, a thick coating of grime on his finger.] SS: Leave it to old Dan to know we have a history, eh, Caleb? If there is one man in this sport that I have a history with, it's you. The things we did to each other last year...they're still haunting those ruins in Anaheim. You soiled the sanctity of my marriage, you stole my babies, and you made my life a living hell. Sure, we had our fights back then, but as I was walking back to the dressing room, and I saw you in the back, I told you no more. There was to be no more feud. We had our dance, and I got beaten. I'm a big enough man to admit that I've been bested. By the way...how's that crucifix on your head? Hope the pain doesn't bug you too much. Didn't exactly mean to go _that_ deep. And not only do I have to contend with the preacher, but I have to contend with [Sampson clears his throat, as his voice takes a mocking tone] "The Baddest Thang Runnin'" himself. We had a war the last time we were in the same ring together, didn't we, Gunnz? You and I...man, the two biggest stars this building ever saw. The man that this fed made a superstar, and the man whose daddy made him a superstar in this building. [Sampson walks over to the corner, and points to a dried up pool of blood.] SS: I think that's my blood from when you smacked that chair off of my skull. Aww, damn, Gunnz. Let's admit it. Neither of us wanted to win that match. You had your fill of the place, and I was not about to leave my cushy front office job. Eventually, though, I don't know if it was from boredom or lack of effort, though, you won. Shortly after, you left the federation, and I resigned my job up top to move back into the ring. Let's get off of the history lesson, and let's get on with the lesson of what's going to go down tomorrow. The Baddest Thangs Runnin', translators of such great texts as "Auch, me kilt is ip en me arse!" and "Surin' ye nut be pickin en me kilture!", take on myself and my second at Birthday Bash '98, Robert Donovan. Tomorrow night, the four of us go into that ring, and we're all going to be marked men. You two are the targets of every single tag team in the IIWF today, and we're the targets of the Coalition. Well, our minds are all off of this match while we watch our backs. This is about as evenly matched as it's going to get for us. So when Rob or I pin your shoulders to the mat, don't cry about Black Watch attacking you, because we'll be under attack from Mota and Williams. [Sampson rolls out of the ring, his sweats collecting dust. A cough escapes his lungs as he walks back to the corridor where the dressing rooms were once housed.] SS: Saturday Night, Gunnz and Caleb, we're going back in time. This time, history is not about to repeat itself. [Fade to black as Sampson walks out of the building.] ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Non-Title "It's Fun To Be Unemployed" Farewell Tour Match: Team Sychosys vs. the Down Boys ------------------------------------------------------------------------ LM: The tenure of the Down Boys is coming to end here in the IIWF. I wonder how they will be remembered? MW: File under "wanna-bes, Marty." LM: This team has been around much too long in the wrestling business to be written off that way. I think Team Sychosys is about to hit a major roadblock on the way to the Bash! MW: You see, it's kinda curious. Petrow, a lot of talent, very original... but, it's glaringly obvious he doesn't look at home as a tag wrestler. I think he's the weakness, not McArthur. Maurice has always needed others, y'see, I think Joe just isn't suited to sharing the spotlight, I'm sure the Preds could exploit that. And 4M would sound nice within 4-D, come to think of it. LM: So you think the Prophets will beat end their reign? MW: Tough, tough team; but, all they've done recently is go down the road of Petrow, I mean, throwing fish! You go down that road, you're playing into Petrow's hands. How can you out-weird him? LM: Both matches will certainly be exciting to watch! Let's listen to both teams! [Cut to a large, dingy room, with a lot of clothes. A faded sign on a nearby wall reads "Portland Salvation Army" Rummaging through the "lost treasures" are the IIWF World Tag Team Champions, "Sychosys" Joe Petrow and "Mr. Majestyk" Maurice McArthur, resplendid once again in their gleaming white tag team title belts. Petrow turns to speak, while McArthur continues riffling through old clothes.] JP: Harlequin Heat. Throughout the history of Team Sychosys, no team has given us more trouble than you guys. So some people might have thought that we would have trained, ate our vitamins, did everything we could in preparation for that match. But you know what? We didn't do a goddamn thing! Not a single thing! We chilled out for Golden Week, we went to the clubs, we made _love_...to the most beautiful women in the world! And when we got in the ring for that match, we not only didn't have a Plan B, we didn't even have a Plan A! Yet we still beat your lame gimmick asses more handly than ever before! Why? Because I finally realized we don't need a plan! Confusion is our land, and we rule with an iron fist! When nobody knows what the hell is going on, especially us..._that's_ when we are at our best! Hey, you! [Petrow points to somebody behind the camera] Bring that out here! Yeah, I know it doesn't make any sense, just get it out here! [From somewhere off camera, two large men struggle to bring in a 100 gallon cup of Dannon Kiwi Yogurt. They place it in front of Joe, life off the huge top, and walk away, shaking their heads slightly] JP: Sometimes, you just gotta do what you feel! To hell with the consequences, to hell with what people think. Just do it! Beefcake! BEEFCAAKKKKEEEE! [With that, Petrow stickss his head and torso far down into the white goo. Meanwhile, while Petrow is "occupied", Mr. Majestyk steps in front of the camera, wearing a hideously faded and holy denim jacket he recently discovered.] 4M: You know, there are a lot of people out there [brief pause, as he turns to look at Petrow] who are still taking Mr. Majestyk for granted. Still saying that even afte three successful title defenses, I can't hold my own! Still saying that I'm holding Petrow down. Well, who says it isn't the other way around!? Who says it shouldn't have been _me_ fighting Kowalski for the gold, and _me_ with all the belts wrapped around my waists! I'm not some robot to be programmed. I'm a human being! I mean, I got just as much [Suddenly, Petrow emerges from the mass, covered in whiteness, with the occasional green speckle here and there. While he catches his breath, Mr. Majestyk glares at his partner, lets out a deep sigh, and returns to his clothes mongering. Petrow wipes some of the goo out of his eyes and continues his diatribe.] JP: Down Boys, I just beat you by sticking my head in a tub of yogurt, and you don't even realize how I did it! I don't know who pushed this non-title crap through, but it makes no difference. There ain't no way you or anybody else is gonna make Joe Petrow and Team Sychosys look stupid, title match or not! Cuz we look forward to booting your slacker asses out of _our_ league one week ahead of schedule! [Somehow, the Duck Savior waddles into the shot. But just as quickly, he waddles away without so much as a single quack.] And Prostates! Just try and come down to the ring and mess around during our match. Just try! Because I am so _sick_ of dealing with you and your bush league antics that I feeling like taking you guys out as well! Your boy Shadoe couldn't even imitate me imitating him all that well, so his push is over. And you, you drunkard bastard Allah, and you unimaginative fish monger Derek, yours won't even start! There's going to be hell to pay! [Petrow wipes some more of his body, and ends up with a huge glob of white stuff in his hand.] JP: Because it's just like they say on the Dr. Demento show: [Petrow speaks in a low, almost growling monotone] JP: Fish heads. Fish heads. Roly poly fish heads. Fish heads. Fish heads. Eat them up. Yum. [Petrow throws his wad at the camera lens, rendering the video pitch white. Fade out.] [The camera shows clips of the Down Boys wrestling in various matches along their IIWF career. Suddenly, the clips cut to a live shot of Dan Oliver and Adam Peterson standing in front of an IIWF backdrop] DO: So, we're leaving the IIWF. AP: Yeah, so what do we do now? DO: We're gonna have to find a... [gasp] AP & DO: REAL JOB! [Suddenly, the screen freeze frames the shocked-looking DB's and we hear a voice-over boom out:] VO: The Down Boys: EMPLOYMENT SEARCH '98. This week: Phone Sex... [Camera shot of a large room with many desks, with phones on them. Most of the people at the phones are women. Dan Oliver and Adam Peterson are being led to two unoccupied desks by a fat, unattractive woman in her mid-40s. Dan and Adam listen intently as the woman speaks] WO: Now boys, most of the men who call you are gonna be horny. Your job is to...well, you know. DO: Talk them out of it? WO: You wish. Have fun boys, I'll be listening. [Dan and Adam sit down at the phones] DO: Damn, after the news job, I figured you'd get us a cool job, Adam, but look what you've got us doing. AP: Hey, it's not like we're not used to homosexuality...we are professional wrestlers. Hell, that IIWF locker room... [Dan begins to laugh, which is interrupted by the ringing of Dan's phone] AP: You better get that, man. DO: Ugh. [sexy voice] Hey baby, what's up? My name's Joey...how can I satisfy your every need? [Adam begins to crack up] DO: Huh...yeah...okay...yeah, that is cute, your name is Joey too. [snickers] So, are you a stud? [Adam blows kisses at Dan, getting him pissed off] DO: [still on the phone] Really? You want to wrestle me? Well, I think I can do that. Okay, first, I'm gonna dropkick you in the face...oh, you're gonna counter? Nah, baby, I'm gonna duck down, and slip you into a sexy STF...you think I look cute in that STF? Well, of course baby, but you look much better in it...you like tapping? Ooooh, reverse it will you, well, now I'm gonna put you in a cute little DDT and pin you...what do you mean, you're gonna have your little partner jump me? BULL[bleep]! I don't give a damn that he's much better now, and that he's to be taken seriously... hey...wait a second...Joey...you're not...aw sh[BLEEP]! You friggin'... [Noticing that Dan is yelling, the woman come up behind Dan and grabs him by the back of his collar. Adam Peterson laughs, until he is grabbed too. Suddenly, the camera shoots over to the outside of the building, where suddenly Dan and Adam land outside, close to the camera. Far off, the woman can be heard yelling "AND DON'T COME BACK!"] DO: Damn. AP: Yeah, damn. DO: So, what are we going to do now? AP: Same thing we're gonna have to do every day, Danny. TRY TO FIND A JOB! VO: They're Danny...they're Danny and the Stud, stud, stud, stud, stud! [Fade.] ------------------------------------------------------------------------ The Natural Predators & the American Dragons vs. Night Patrol & the Black Watch ------------------------------------------------------------------------ LM: Here we have the old hands, in the Preds and Night Patrol, and the new tag stars in the Dragons and Black Watch! MW: American Dragons? Is the American culture filled with tales and lore about dragons? Have I missed something on American culture? Japan, dragons, yup. Wales, dragons, yup. The land of the free, unless you're native Americans, large scaly fire breathing lizards with delusions of grandeur? I just don't think so. But they have the good luck of tagging with the Preds, so they must have something. LM: What about the other side of the ring? MW: Aye, y' wee yon' timorous beastie, hidin' doon t'glen, oft ... aw, heck. I feel lousy mocking fellow Celts, but anybody who couldn't be bothered defending the Intercontinental belt deserves both barrels. Two tough men, wonderful interviews for those bored housewives who spend all day trying to work out what they're saying... LM: I thought it was established that Duncan was kept from defending by commitments to Turner? Isn't that one of the reasons he turned on him? Oh well. Let's hear from all participants. [The scene fades in on a match in progress....Bear of the Natural Predators is facing Bob Ivey of the American Dragons. Bear takes a wild swing, only for Ivey to duck and clip his legs from behind rocking, but not dropping, the giant. Ivey rolls to his corner and tags in...Grey Phoenix? The Phoenix dropkicks his partner, sending him a little backwards...and Joe Scalercio calls for the tag from Bear! Bear moves to the corner and tags him in...and the Phoenix responds with a series of chops, whipping Joe across the ring off the ropes, with Joe catching the leapfrog and slamming the aerial Predator down in a spinebuster somersault roll-up. At ringside, Kuyler yells out directions to...both men?] KG: No, damn it! Come on, Joe, if you're going to do that roll-up, hold on behind the knees! It makes it harder to kick out...and Michael, he head faked you. That's not like you. Come on. Bear, your reactions are slow...you've got to remember, don't hold back in that ring, even in a spar like this. You start holding back, you'll never be able to stop. And Bob, if you're going after a big man's legs, focus so you strike with your feet, not your thigh and lower leg. It'll give them less chance to balance themselves. [the action stops as both teams come to the ropes] Look, I put you in this spar because we don't have the time to go through full training sessions. By improvising teams like this, we can work out a few good combinations, a few quick tag matches to round out the teamwork, and an overall idea of what works and what doesn't. Joe, Bob, you're facing one of the top teams the IIWF has spawned in it's tenure on Saturday Night and the following Saturday. You two have stayed as close to being pure and white bread as you can be...but it only carries you so far. The fans know you...they like you...and we all know you do what you can, when you can, to stay within the rules. Believe me, there are few teams out there who are willing to go that extra mile to win fairly. That's respectable. But if the fight is taken to you...especially next week, show them that you're not afraid of anything...and can stand toe to toe with them. Ivey, you and Joe get a few of your thoughts out for the camera crew...swtich teams next time, and I want to see what you can really do when you cut loose, ok? Bear, GP, come here. I want to talk to you about the scouting reports on the Black Watch...I still think power on power it comes down to you against Andrew, Bear... [Kuyler and the Predators walk off, giving the Dragons the floor...and the interview space. Joe takes a swig from a bottle of Gatorade as Bob wipes his face with a towel] BI: God, my arms are sore. JS: You keep trying to press slam Bear, that's bound to happen. BI: Hey, I can lift him... JS: Once. Twice, maybe. Three times? I'm surprised you got him up as high as you did. BI: Greyson was impressed, though. JS: The last guy who threw Bear around was Eddy Ramos, and that was how long ago? BI: Hell, Snow Brawl, right? JS: Yep. Admit it, training with Kuyler Greyson was one of the best moves we've ever made. Sure as hell beats your dad screaming... BI: That's MAJOR Ivey, Scalercio. JS: Yeah, yeah... BI: Okay, I admit it. He knows his stuff. The Predators are damn lucky to have him. He did lead them to the belts once before. JS: Yeah, but in the ring, who wins it? BI: The damn guys who wrestle. JS: Right. Night Patrol, Hawkings ain't going to save your butts. She can look all she wants into my past. I have nothing to hide. All you'll find is a mom working in a launramat and a dad who died in the line of fire. Heaven help you if you dig THAT up, bitch... BI: Easy, partner! JS: I'm sorry...I get worked up. BI: Nothing wrong with that. You have to get worked up. Greyson's right. We can go with anyone, and we can do it by playing by the rulebook...but there comes a time when we gotta toss it out the window. The Night Patrol and the Black Watch ain't going to play nice, Joe. Both teams like to hurt people, and they both want to hurt us. The Patrol's going to break the rules like crazy...while the Macbeth's are going to try to put us out. Permanently. JS: Hey, I'm not afraid of either of them, the cops OR those kilt wearing idiots. BI: That's the problem. For all we say, the Patrol and the Watch AREN'T stupid. They know what they're doing in the ring, and they know how to hurt us... ...badly. Are you ready? Even with Bear and Grey Phoenix backing us up, this is going to be the hardest match we've EVER had. JS: Until Birthday Bash. BI: Yeah... JS: I'm ready. [Joe and Bob slap hands together, gripping them tightly for a few seconds. The camera turns to face Bear and Grey Phoenix, standing behind Kuyler, arms crossed] KG: Let's see here. Night Patrol, 0-2 against the Predators...former US Tag Champs, good all around team, of that there's no doubt. Black Watch, successful in other places, Duncan Macbeth successful as an IC champion here. What sort of teamwork are we going to see from them? GP: Not much, I'd think. Black Watch can't stand anyone... KG: And the Night Patrol's more interested in hurting the Dragons tha anyone else. B: I got no problems taking on the Macboobs... GP: That's just it though. We can't just "take on the Mcboobs" like that. That's what they're counting on. KG: Michael's right, Bear...you have to remember you're part of a team here, not just part of your team. And the Dragons are going to have their hands full here. Plus, let's not forget what we found out about the BTR, just in case... GP: That's right. BTR is a target at this point for the Black Watch... and vice versa. KG: So...can you keep your focus in the ring? B: Oh, hell yeah, Kuy...you know me when I get in the ring. KG: Yeah...you tend to do pretty well with these matches. Right...back to work boys...oh and boys...against the Dragons this time? Cheat as if your lives depended on it. B: Huh? GP: ...you mean, be the Black Watch... KG: Exactly. They know the Night Patrol well enough. Black Watch might be a little tougher on them, and you know enough "aboot ol' Randy Andy and Duncan Donut" to "give 'em some highland hell". GP: Neyho neyehe hiyo. B: We will triumph. KG: And Smoky Joe? Keep those belts shined nice and clean for us. [The camera pans back out, and all four men climb in the ring, the Dragons vs. the Predators] JS: We're ready for anything you guys can throw at us! B: Really? KG: Give 'em hell, boys. BI: Any team, any time... [Fade out on Bob Ivey getting ready to lock up with Bear] [Lt. Jack Blazer and Sgt. Rey Garcia are dining on respective plates of haggis, grimmacing and downing whiskey sours. Assistant DA Brenda Hawkings watches on.] RG: Ugh! I can't eat another bite! BH: Just finish it. JB: I was in the mood for that menudo that Rey's sister makes. BH: I promised the Macbeths that we would learn a little about their culture to understand them better for our eight man tag match. We need to send a message before the Pay Per View. RG: So why couldn't we just rent "Braveheart" and look up some tartan patterns? BH: I sent them some crullers and chili mix, so we have to eat their food [both groan]. RG: [gulping down another bite] how about our investigation? What about that lead we gave you? BH: I seriously doubt that the fact that Joe Scarlecio tore that tag off of a King Size mattress he bought in January will give us anything serious to work from. JB: We still found other stuff. Ivey still hasn't returned that library copy of "Rouge Warrior". RG: Yeah, and I think that Joe didn't rewind his copy of "George Carlin Live"... BH: [really annoyed] NEVER MIND! I'll have to call off the investigation... you two couldn't convict Hitler. I'll have to resort to "Plan B"... [Fade.] [SCENE: The inside of the Boar and Thistle Tavern on SW Front Street in downtown Portland. At a booth in the corner, we find the familiar duo of Andrew and Duncan Macbeth. Duncan is wearing black jeans with cowboy boots, a plain grey T-shirt, and his motorcycle jacket with the lion rampant on the back. Andrew is wearing grey slacks and a Harris Tweed sportscoat with black shoes and a cream turtleneck.] DM: Weal, th' table's set. Next week, 'tis Th' Stanks 'n' oos. AM: Aye. [Hugh, the proprietor of the Boar and Thistle, enters the shot and places a pint of McEwan's in front of each Macbeth.] H: Yis bastards looks a wee doon. Wot's oop, lads? [Andrew contemplates his beer for a moment while Duncan shifts uneasily in his seat.] AM: Ah, balls, Hugh. We've nae been in th' ring fer, wha', twa weeks noo. DM: I miss crackin' heeds open. H: Jaysis, lads, sae yis ha'ent been wrestlin'. Guid. Duncan needed a rest, anyway. Them concussions is nae fun, aye. I got me heed caved in 'gainst Th' Auld Enemy back in '62 in a ruggers match. I needed a year off an' a steady diet o' haggis n' malt a'fore I was ready to kick their spleens in again. But Dunc, yuir already 100 per cent, wha'. DM: Och, ye may be right, Hugh. H: "Course I'm right. Noo, drink oop, lads. Last roond fer this evenin'. [Hugh exits the shot. Duncan takes a swig of his beer.] DM: Aye, but I'd _still_ rather be crackin' heeds open. [Andrew turns to the ubiquitous cameraman.] AM: Ye see tha', yis tossers, yis? _Tha'_ is a true sooperstar in th' makin', aye. Ye can strip 'im of 'is title fer no guid reason. Ye can make 'im carry is poor auld cousin tae th' IIWF tag belts. [Pause] AM: But ye cannae take away... our FREEDOM!!! [Duncan almost snorts his beer out his nose in laughter. Andrew smiles and slaps Duncan across the back.] AM: Aye, indeed, aulder than th' Shetland Islands, I am. An' just as cold in th' winter o' me career. But there's more arse-kickin fer me tae do on th' horizon, aye. As fer this lad 'ere... just keep it comin', folks. Keep throwin' yuir shite in 'is way, an' Duncan'll keep risin' above it. [Another pause, while Andrew drains half his pint in one fell swoop.] DM: Wot, tha's it? No runnin' doon th' oppostion? AM: Och, they ken tha' they soock. Weal... okay. One lame interview-endin' catchphrase, then we go. [Andrew finishes his beer, gets up and hands Hugh a $100, then pats him on the shoulder and heads for the door. Duncan drains his beer, thinks for a moment, and says to the camera...] DM: PISS ON ALL O' YIS! H: [grinning] Nae bad, Duncan. See yis lads at th' Birthday Bash. Don't ferget t' take yuir camera-totin' toady, ye ken? An' tell 'im t' leave a tip next time. Bloody Yanks... [Fade] ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Jimmy "the Meatman" Steele vs. Valthurius the Mad ------------------------------------------------------------------------ LM: Here's a match featuring the two monsters of the IIWF... MW: Great, that's all we need. A crazy guy, eighteen feet tall, nine thousand pounds, probably able to perform an Asai moonsault and cure cancer. Guess the bookermen are gonna be hard-pressed to find ways for him to lose... LM: I'm not quite sure who you mean...but let's move on to Steele... MW: Again, he's a tough guy. His acts kinda running stale, though, and you know the kinda insect that gathers round stale meat... and other things... LM: Both...uh...men, had comments for our cameras. [A dark, dingy space. Lit in spots by a swinging lamp, and occasional flashes of lightning as El Nino rages on. We see long tables stained with blood, and hooks which dangle from the ceiling; some with remnants of prey, like a fisherman's hook and it's lone chunk of worm. The Meatman walks through the room. He steps over discarded machinery. He picks up a rusty knife and throws it into a trash barrel.] JS: They's all workin' on the Meatman challenge at the main plant, and I ain't allowed ta see. Fair's fair, Valthalisbury. So I come to you from the old plant. Memories flood back to me like blood spittin' from an artery. Memories of the old days. My daddy had his own way a' keepin, killin', and processin. It wasn't always pretty, but that was then... Valthalisbury-meat. I ain't never quite met an animal like you. What? You ain't an animal? Yer a human being? Than watchoo got a keeper for? I seen him hit you. Hurt you. Boss you around. What for, Valthalisbury? Does he take the pain in the ring? Is it his guts that are gettin' smashed? What's he do you can't do by yerself? Maybe there's things you can do without K-Ration bossin' ya around. Maybe there's things in life he been keepin' from you. Other... urges... you may have. [The Meatman dips his hand into a pile of muck from a blood trough. He lets the goo slips from his fingers.] All the bone and muscle and sinew that's passed through my grinders. Organs still beatin'. Kidneys still dribblin' piss. Eyeballs in skulls I could swear just blinked... [Thunder claps, and lightning emblazons the warehouse.] One day back in 1981. It was a stormy night like tonight. I was gettin' ready ta clean the floors and the grinders, when a freak bolt of lightnin' hit the metal sign outside. Blam! Lit it up like a stripshow marquee! Then, the funniest thing. All the guts, and crap, and skin, and innards I was to clean up -- were gone. I never thought to much of it, bein' a young punk. And I was glad when ever night when I came to scrape the troughs -- they was shiny as new. [Sound of a tremendous impact against wood. The Meatman moves to a door which is criss crossed with heavy chains.] I didn't know what ta call this phernom-enon. I didn't know what ta call it when I saw blood scrabblin' under this door. I didn't know what ta call the pulsatin' pile of flesh that trembled and grew inside this cellar. [The door slams against him and he presses his weight back.] ...but now I do, Valtharius. It is a she! A she of meat! [The door pounds again, nearly breaking the chains.] She is ALIVE, and her name is MEATRICE! HA HA HA HA HA!! [The Meatman exits. Camera stays on the door. It pounds again. A strange female voice is heard.] MEATRICE: Valtharrriussss. Valthariuuuusssssss. Soonnnn we will meat. Sooooon we will be togetherrrr... [There is another eruption of light followed by the bray of thunder. Fade.] [A raven flies swiftly through the night and lands on the branch of a dead oak tree. Below, torches burn in sconces that are planted in the ground. Several Karachellian Cultists mill about or are involved in dark rituals or prayers to their master... Karachel, The Voice of Reason. Over in one corner of the cults encampment is Valtharius the Mad, who sits quietly before the High Priest of the Karachellian Cult, who is writing at a chalkboard] HP: Pain...... Suffering.... Carnage... Valtharius!! Repeat after me! [pointing to words on chalkboard] Pain!! VTM: PAIN!!! HP: Suffering! VTM: SUFFERING!!! HP: Carnage! VTM: CARNAGE!!! HP: Very good Valtharius!! Now write these words in your vocabulary work book and then turn it in at the end of class. [Valtharius awkwardly scribbles pen across the workbook in a feeble attempt to make out the trio of words but ends up making a mess instead] HP: Yes.... it is only a matter of time! My evil majesty Karachel admires the raw strength and brutality that Valtharius possesses! He orders me to instruct the Italian Madman in the art of darkness. Soon, once his talents are completely harnessed, Valtharius the Mad will be unstoppable!! [In the background, Valtharius becomes frustrated and rips his workbook in two! The High Priest not seeing his student's actions, continues to speak] HP: Valtharius's patience and determination will prove most rewarding, once he fully fulfill's the prophecies promised by Karachel!!! Jim "The Meatman" Steele... "Vagabond" Chris Staley... Eddy "Flap" Jacks... and even the vaunted champion of the IIWF Steve "The Fury Kowalski or any other competitor who dares confront this awesome combination of strength and evil shall suffer a most... unfortunate... and painful... experience! [In the background, Valtharius begins to chew on his pen. Blue ink dribbles down his chin from his mouth] HP: My Master's greatest work will soon be completed! Valtharius will learn to stalk more efficiently, to thirst and to foremost serve his evil majesty, The Voice of Reason. Blood will flow like wine and darkness will reign!!! [Valtharius stands up and grabs his chair! He smashes the chair repeatedly onto his desk] VTM: STUPID WORDS!!! ME HURT MEATHEAD!!! NO MORE WORDS!!! WORDS STUPID!!! [Valtharius picks up remains of his tattered book] HP: Valtharius!! Cease this madness!! NO!!! [Valtharius grab the High Priest by the front of the black robes and viciously stuffs his workbook into the mouth of his "teacher". He follows the stuffing with an onslaught of punches!!] VTM: PAIN!!! SUFFERING!!! CARNAGE!!! [A boiling black cloud suddenly appears in the middle of the cults encampment and Karachel, The Voice of Reason, steps out from its murky darkness. The Karachellian Cultists gather about him and genuflect. He looks over at Valtharius destroying the High Priest of his cult] K: Good Valtharius!!! Look closer my followers! [laughs most satanically] He can be taught!!!! James Steele!!! The eve of your judgement draws near!!! The Voice of Reason is only a few short breaths from being.... [his eyes suddenly blaze a bright gun-metal blue] Immortal! [Karachel spews the camera lens with a mouthful of blood] [Fade to black... from red.] ------------------------------------------------------------------------ The Fabulous Ones, Robert d'Artois & Reiner Ver Magnusson vs. The Machines & the Benjamins ------------------------------------------------------------------------ LM: One thing we know about this match...a little over a week from now, one of them won't be in the IIWF! It won't be the new European duo who can't seem to put any wins together with their massive egos! MW: Hey, I don't really keep an eye on the tag teams here I mean, within 4-D, that ain't my arena. Again, they seem to fit the usual stereotypes of big mouthed, cheating foreigners to you Americans. I'm sure that the Predators are watching every tag bout, but equally, those two guys'll have to really raise their game and beat somebody important to get to that level. LM: What about the other new team that seems to vex them, the Benjamins? MW: File with Down Boys under 'whipping boys'. LM: If they _only_ get to the level of the Down Boys, who _are_ former World champs, the Benjamins will be well off! Now what about the teams that will risk elimination at the Birthday Bash? How about the Fabulous Ones who made you an offer recently? MW: Not quite as Fabulous as me. Good offer, but I'd be the star, not Ms. Miki. LM: And the Machines? MW: Hell, what the dubba-eye has needed is pure, old-fashioned hatred. Soundbite just can't wait for them and the Fabs, huh? LM: Him and many IIWF fans! We had comments from all four teams! ["The Universal Heartthrob" Agito Nakajima and "Sweet" Sho Satsuma are swimming laps in an Olympic sized swimming pool. On the opposite side of the pool sitting with their legs in the pool are Ms. Miki and the Lovely Bertha, both women are wearing bikinis and are chatting. In the background Van Halen's first album can be heard.] Music: # Well, I've been to the edge. There I stood and looked down. # [Both Sho and Agito are swimming back across the pool towards the camera.] Music: # You know I lost a lot of friends there baby, I've got no time to mess around. # [They're doing the breast stroke and seem very good at it. Much like watching two Olympic swimmers.] Music: # Oooh, so if you want it, got to bleed for it baby. # [The two Fabulous Ones get closer to the camera.] Music: # Uuummm, got to, got to, bleed for it. # [Then, the two oriental sensations step out of the pool. The water slides off their sculpted bodies. Two towels are thrown to each of them. They wipe their faces then dry their bodies.] SSS: Pretty ironic...the music and all. It kind of says it all. You've got to bleed for it. AN: It looks as though some other clowns want to jump on the Fabulous Express to greatness. Well, I must say, you tried... SSS: [Smiling] A good try at that. AN: But, I'm afraid the Worst Thangs Running couldn't get the job done. SSS: [Chuckling] Nice bag though. AN: You had an agenda to finish off the best team in wrestling today, but failed. I can see where you were coming from. You figured, injure the Fabs and cause them to be off their game so they lose at the Birthday Bash and then it'll be smooth sailing to the belts. Again, I must say nice try... SSS: But, like your rotten sex lives, you couldn't get the job done. Maybe, if you had a condom or something in that bag of yours you might get luck sometime with a lady. All though she'd be a huge, cellulite ridden whore, but at least you could score. AN: Here's the scoop. [Waving at the camera] Come closer. Look at our faces, not a mark. [The camera zooms in on the duo's faces, and just like Agito said there isn't a mark.] AN: You made us bleed, you brought the barb wire and all, and yet you couldn't get the job done. SSS: It's called a secret oriental lotion...a little seaweed, some akuma tree leaves, a pinch of whale liver and some great genetics and prest-o change-o...Still perfect as always. [Sho rubs the side of is face, then walks out of view as the camera pans back to it's original setting.] AN: Now as for the NorthPac Co. I would have thought you had better smarts than to mess with us. At least one of you is oriental. Unfortunately, that's the one with the problem. First of all I want to clear some things up. Tsuburaya Enterpirses, Mr. Tsuburaya, or the Fabulous Ones have never and will never sellout. It's not our style. We love our country too much for that. The ones selling out here is you. Akira-kun, you turned on your own kin? [Sarcastically] What a dishonorable act coming from such an honorable guy. Mr. Tsuburaya has given to charities throughout Japan. He's even organized them. His movie company, Toho, is the biggest movie company in Japan. His dealings with American companies have resulted in bringing in billions of dollars to the Japanese economy. Especially now, when the economy isn't doing so well. You should do better homework, and keep your toire kuchi shut! [Sho walks back into view then back out, with Bertha.] SSS: Gotta go, sayonara. We've got play-time coming up. [Bertha just giggles as the two of them can't seem to get their hands off each other.] AN: Now, onto the bigger picture. What in the hell was that all about Mr. Spreadbury-san? I think the fans can see that you're having the referees turn a blind eye to our opponents' antics, be them legal or illegal. What's happening? Your guys can't even sell it now. They're becoming obvious about it. This Wednesday, our lame opponents use foreign objects and the referee doesn't do a thing but count us out. [Laughing and shaking his head.] Well, in just over a week, your tag team ranks are going to be two less. We chased your beloved Damage Inc, boys out of here, the Down Boys are soon to follow, and we're going to destroy your greatest tag team, the Machines. Gone, history, caput, no more. Remember, you forced us to do it. [Ms. Miki steps into view. She's holding the side of her face.] MM: Hey, Paulie, like the Worst Thangs Running, you couldn't get the job done. Nice back hand, but you should learn to follow through. [She walks out of sight.] AN: Spreads-kun, what the hell have you done to your tag division? You should have never upset us. [Agito laughs and walks out of sight.] [Scene fades in the IIWF interview area. Robert d'Artois is standing there, alone.] RdA: I'll make that very short. Reiner Ver Magnusson isn't here right now, he's training like a madman for our upcoming matches. He doesn't seem to be able to stand the laughing from the pathetic IIWF tag teams, the laughing that is directed at us from a unrealist losing streak. In fact, I wonder how I am able to accept that fact. But, as I see it, we won't accept any kind of other losses. When we will get in the ring with the Benjamins for the third time, it'll be like a new debut for us, because every bad thing that has happened to us in the past month is their fault! We have absolutely nothing to do with that. The fact that they cheated us of our debut win was the thing that started the losing streak for us, the so-called losing streak, and our victory in our new debut match will end that very losing streak and catapult us up to where we definitely belong, in the top of the rankings. We shall have gotten the World Tag Team belts upon our debut, but we got the Benjamins. And those pathetic little kids have stolen our confidence on our very first day in the IIWF. Now, it will be time for us to show and teach them what we are all about, what true wrestling is all about. What True European Excellence is all about. And this Saturday Night, Benjamins, we'll face you, along with the Machines. In this bout, we'll team with the Fabulous Ones. I've seen these two in the ring, and they'll do for a one-shot deal. And we shall win. That's the last loss that we will accept. I've nothing else to say. My mind isn't on talking right now, it's on wrestling and it's on winning. And that's what myself and Reiner intend to do in the upcoming years! [He leaves the area as the screen fades to black.] [The camera fades in to the empty Portland Coliseum. Several workers are busy preparing for tomorrow's card. The camera pans around, capturing the hard-working IIWF workers at their jobs. Then, the camera moves up, to the ledge underneath the jumbotron. It zooms in, and finds Simon O'Neal and Paul Wong of the Machines, each sitting on chairs on the ledge.] SO: You know, the view here is fantastic. I mean, from here a person could spit and probably hit the fat lady in the thirteenth row. [Peers over the edge.] Long way down, though. But, I'm sure Mr. Tsuburayu can tell you that MUCH better that either one of us could. It's a beautiful thing. We get to destroy the Fabulous Ones at Birthday Bash. But first, we have them tomorrow night. They've got a pair of European Trash on their sides. We've got a pair of... PW: Mind if I take over? SO: Huh? Oh, sure thing. [The camera focuses in on Paul Wong as Simon steps off to one side. Paul leans back in his chair and looks up.] PW: I don't want to talk about the Fabulous Ones. We'll do that next week. And I don't want to talk about their partners. I don't want to talk about anything, really. I want to talk TO someone. Our partners this Saturday. The Benjamins. [Paul leans forward and sets all four legs of his chair back onto the ledge. He stares straight into the cameras.] PW: Billy and Joe. I've looked at you guys in the ring. You've got some talent, but I don't want to talk about that. I want to talk about your attitude. You seem like a couple of nice kids... and that's your problem. This league, the IIWF? They eat nice kids for lunch. Take a look around. Kowalski, Petrow, Annis... do you think any of them are NICE? [Shakes their head] There isn't a wrestler in the league who wouldn't mug your grandma of her money just for laughs. But I know what you're thinking... you're doing it for the FANS. Well, here's the deep, dark secret. Listen closely. The IIWF fans don't like nice. They like cruel, they like mean. That man who would mug your grandma? Behind him are a dozen IIWF fans cheering him on. I used to be nice. I used to be just like you. I'm just trying to teach you a lesson that I didn't learn until it was too late. You'd better develop a dark side. Because this league will destroy you if you don't. [He looks over the edge, right where he powerbombed Mr. Tsuburayu last week.] PW: People ask me if I'm sorry for what I did last week. Yeah, I'm sorry. [He pauses] I'm sorry I couldn't injure more of those so-called "fans" in this place. [Fade] [Scene opens on a plush hotel room. In the center of the big room, there is a bed, and on it lies an exhausted Bobby Benjamin. Slumped in a chair next to the bed is Joe Benjamin. The distinct sound of Steve Roberts can be heard emanating from the large T.V in front of the bed and chair] BB: [Raises his head towards camera] Oh, hey! [Beams a benjismile] We're a bit pooped at the moment, but we've always got time to talk to our fans. JB: [Slowly raising his head towards camera] Yeah, we've just got back from another hardcore training at the Power Prep. Y'know bro [turns his head away from camera slightly, and towards his brother], remind me never to take your 'let's see who can do the most push-ups' challenge ever again, kay? BB: [Chuckles lightly] Hey, I'm feelin' it too! But, it'll all pay off once we get into that ring on Saturday Night. JB: Yeah, s'pose you're right -- But I just know I'm gonna wake tomorrow with sore arms. BB: [Shakes his head, gets up and sits on the edge of the bed, right next to his brother and directly in front of the camera] Quit your moanin', little bro... You wanna make it here? You gotta put in the work! JB: Well [flexes his huge left bicep as he looks at his brother], if I can get a few good shots against Magnusson and d'Artois, it's gonna be worth it. [Joe shifts his chair, so that it is facing the camera as well, and settles back into his position] BB: Saturday Night, we're in a four-team battle. This is the first time we'll ever fight in one of these things, so we've got another thing to learn about. But, I guess the big difference is that instead of having one guy to watch your back, you've got three. JB: [Looks at his brother] You sure about that? I mean, our partners are the Machines. BB: [Resignedly] Yeah, you're probably right... we can't exactly trust them to help us out. JB: Well, that guy O'Neal's always been a bit of a... err, fruit loop, but I thought that Paul Wong was a good guy. But now, he's got a bit weird, and y'know, there ain't any excuse for hittin' a woman -- no matter how bad your heart got broke, it just ain't [shakes his head] on. I got brought up to always treat women with respect... guess you didn't, Paul. BB: Already, we're in a bit of a trouble -- we can't count on our partners to stay on our side and that's before we even face our opponents! JB: Fabulous Ones, if I were you, I'd stay out of our way. We want the Europeans, not you guys. But, if we've gotta get through ya, we'll do it. Magnusson, d'Artois -- the only reason that you haven't been losing cleanly is 'cos you guys always run away! Are ya gonna do it again on Saturday? I hope not. I'm gettin' more confident every time I step into the ring, and if you guys are s'posed to be 'legends' -- I definitely am gettin' there, 'cos you ain't THAT tough. BB: Machines. You've [points to camera] got issues, so do we [points to himself]. If you keep up your end, we'll do our best to keep up ours -- we both wanna win and all we're asking for is a little co-operation. If that happens, it's gonna be our night... IN UNISON: [Both raise their fists and give huge benjismiles] 'Cos It's All About The Benjamins, Baby!! [Fade.] ________ ______ | || |\ \ /\ / /| __|.................................................. | || | \ v v / | __| Trash Talk |_||_| \_/\_/ |_|.................................................... LM: With this many wrestlers involved in the card tomorrow night, there aren't many left for Trash Talk! We do have comments from two men who faced each other on Wednesday War Room, Charles Scheffield and Christopher Stonebreaker! ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Christopher Stonebreaker ------------------------------------------------------------------------ [The camera opens on the IIWF dressing rooms, apparently immediately following the Stonebreaker/Scheffiled matchup from War Room. There with a hot towel draped over his shoulder, and the wrestler looking down at the accessory. Chris finally stops his examination of the cloth, and turns his attention to the camera cre in front of him.] CS: One more loss in an IIWF arena. You want to know a little something? Honestly, right now it's the last damn thing I'm worried about. I've been listening to all the talk. All the words from everyone in this arena. Wrestle, don't brawl. Those were your words weren't they Bacon? Well look where the hell the wrestling got me around here. Musashi and Paris. I step into the IIWF arena ready to wrestle, and these two men seem to decide that the wrestling doesn't matter at that exact moment. Fine, I chalked that one up to getting thrown into someone else's fight. Then there was the infamous waterbucket with Luke. The man who has supposedly seen the light in recent weeks. Did I start that little scenario? Hell, no. But who was everyone pointing their fingers at when they wanted someone to blame? That's right. They all said that the big ol' cajun started that scene. So what happened at Ring Wars? I step in that squared circle to make sure that it was going to be a clean setup. I was coming to Ring Wars ready to _wrestle_. But some incompetent official decides that our match wasn't about wrestling. It was about that damn waterbucket. An IIWF official showing the fans that the wrestling didn't matter? Are we starting to see a little trend here? And then...then it came down to the Intercontinental Tournament. Turner and myself. Probably the best under-hyped match wrestling wise that the IIWF had ever seen, bar none. [Chris stops and pulls the towel off his shoulder, and wraps it around his mammoth fist and lower arm.] But that wasn't enough for the members of the IIWF. It wasn't enough for you Lebec. You decided to stick your crooked little nose in, and it was you who cost me a wrestling match. [Chris again halts his speech, and looks around the dressing room.] According to all the contracts I signed when I stepped into the Portland area, this was a wrestling federation. Hell, we all saw the push for the "Wrestle Clean" campaign. And that's precisely` what I did. And what did it get? I've been saddled with people who _don't_ want to face this cajun wrestler. Lebec, Steele, Musashi, Paris, it didn't stop then, and I'd almost be willing to bet that it won't stop anytime down the road. So the newest IIWF "campaign" is about to take place. Simply put, "If you can't beat 'em, beat the hell out of 'em", and Jacks, you and Scheffield can claim whatever you want about the matchups we've had in the recent weeks. But to correct ol' Charles, the Rajun Cajun ain't used up, but he's sure as hell going to make sure he ain't getting _used_ anymore, and Saturday night, it's time for this wrestler, this brawler, and this fighter to start using a few people of his own!!! [Fade] ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Charles Scheffield ------------------------------------------------------------------------ [The shot fades in on Charles Scheffield standing before the ever- present IIWF backdrop. As always, he is clad quite lavishly in a quite expensive looking suit. He has a calm look on his face as he stares into the camera.] CSc: Greetings. I really don't know where to start today... I guess I have realized just what everything is about now... and I shall act on what I have learned. [Scheffield assumes a slightly grave look upon his face.] Now, what I am about to say... I realize it could be taken incorrectly so I want you all to understand where it is I stand. You see, what happened Saturday Night was despicable. I was forced to wrestle in a no disqualifications match when I was a large advocate of "Wrestle Clean". I know the power that the comittee up stairs has... and I know that this match did not have to be a no disqualifications match. However, I wrestled the match anyway. I believe I have done some damage to my image as a result as well... because I know how something like this can confuse the masses. I guess what I am trying to say is I conformed to the rules... that being that there were no disqualifications. When I am put in a situation like that, I will resort to savage tactics because I only believe in adhering to the rules. The thing is I also believe in law and order and I believe I came off as an advocate of extreme wrestling. [Scheffield calms down.] I was simply doing as I was asked. Now, while I can do that kind of thing... I do not blindly follow what I am told whether or not I choose to follow it. In this case, I took a step back and looked at what this was all about. This was all for a man to take up Ike Sampson's place as poster boy for the IIWF "Wrestle Clean" campaign. A no disqualifications match to be a poster boy for "Wrestle Clean"? Furthermore... it was for a shot at Steve Kowalski's World Championship belt. I guess by now a few of you realize where I am going with this... but for those of you who are not following, I'll spell it out to you. Earlier, I said I was forced to wrestle a no disqualifications match while I was an advocate of the "Wrestle Clean" campaign. For those of you who follow along closely... you'd have noticed the keyword there being _was_. Yes... Charles Scheffield no longer supports the Wrestle Clean campaign. [Scheffield's face remains quite stoic as he says those words.] If this organization... of "Wrestle Clean" is so corrupt as to allow a man like Serge Annis to lead the way to "Wrestle Clean" and allow him to mess with contracts so he can wrestle like a bum off the street under the banner of "Wrestle Clean" then I cannot be a part of it. And it was _I_ who carried that match as well. Annis made _me_ wrestle nearly the entire thing... and especially when that isn't my cup of tea, so to speak. I hope this is hitting home. Personally, ever since I joined this organization I have been a strong proponent of clean wrestling before the lucrative campaign was started. Now it has just become a political band wagon for people to join who want to score points with the top officials of the IIWF. Well... not Scheffield. _Not_ Scheffield. I shall now promote clean wrestling in my own way... and Christopher Stonebreaker shall find out this Wednesday _exactly_ what I am capable of. Carry on. [The camera fades.] [The shot turns back to Larry and Marty.] LM: That wraps the penultimate edition of Countdown before our painfully long hiatus but join us tomorrow night as we se 38 IIWF wrestlers throw down! I would just like to thank Marty Warnett for coming on tonight and _not_ destroying the set! MW: It isn't worth the effort. LM: Don't forget to tune in Monday for Musings and next Friday for Countdown to Birthday Bash with my special panel of co-hosts, Tim Dross, Steve Roberts, and "The Real Deal" Luke Steele! Good night everybody! [Fade.] +=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= I * I * W * F =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-+ | President: Daniel Spreadbury | Vice-President: Gregg Osterhout | | univ0322@sable.ox.ac.uk | ghost@frii.com | | iiwf@sisko.demon.co.uk | | +=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- http://www.sisko.demon.co.uk -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=+