Fresh! Results2nd August 2005
An Uncompromising Compromise
FEATURING: DAVID "PEARL" HARBER, PADDY O'SHEA, THE FARMER
AUTHOR: MICHAEL DOHERTY AND PIERRE HYDE
The scene opens inside David "Pearl" Harber's office. Pearl is seated at his large mahogany desk reading over a sheet of paper half-heartedly. After a few odd mutterings to himself, Pearl scrunches up the paper into a ball and throws at a small bin at the other end of the room. His attempt fails miserably. Harber then smoothes down the creases in his suit he has just made and is about to pick up another sheet of paper amidst the clutter on his desk when there's a knock on the door. Pearl coolly glances at the door.
Pearl: Enter.
The door is flung open and Paddy O'Shea and The Farmer walk in. Paddy seems to have a lot on his mind, as he doesn't stop to close the door. Instead he walks right over to the desk and sits on it, staring at Pearl the whole time with a frown on his face.
Paddy O'Shea: A match.
Pearl: Could I ask you to remove your backside from my desk? I eat my lunch off this and the thought of eating something off your ass-stain is hardly appetising.
Pearl chuckles a little at his own joke and hopes to gain the same reaction from O'Shea. However, Paddy is in no mood for jokes and instead keeps his gaze fixed in uncharacteristic seriousness.
Pearl: Yes well… what did you say again?
Paddy O'Shea: A match.
Pearl sits back on his seat and spreads his arms in an attempt to highlight his authority. Paddy however never bats an eyelash.
Pearl: Is everything okay Paddy? You're unusually… sombre.
Paddy O'Shea: What… are ye sayin' aye'm jus' a feckin' drunkard?
Pearl: No sombre! Which means moody… I think anyway.
Pearl lets loose a small smile to break the tension. He knows exactly what the word "sombre" means, but a natural skill in the art of being a "people person" is overriding this knowledge. Again, though, Paddy O'Shea stays still. Pearl looks over Paddy's shoulder to The Farmer in the hope for a little support. The Farmer however simply greets Pearl with the same sustained gaze.
Pearl: Okay… a match? Well, in the future, I would appreciate you putting your suggestions in the suggestion box bu –
Paddy O'Shea: It's no' a suggestion.
Pearl suddenly rises to his feet and towers over Paddy. There is frustration in his face and he begins to flush.
Pearl: Mr. O'Shea, I'm in charge here, not you. I sign your paychecks so you'd better give me a bit of respect.
Paddy now stands up so that he and Pearl are nose to nose. After a few moments, Pearl loses his composure and sits back down. O'Shea follows suit and returns to his makeshift seat on Pearls desk.
Paddy O'Shea: Look here, Mr. Harber. Aye have every right t' act like this because in case ye didn' kno', me father was nearly murdered on YER show. Now, aye have every right t' sue ye bu' aye didn', havin' faith in ye tha' ye would bring the bastard who did it t' justice…an' since then, wha' have ye done? Feck all. Ye could have fired him bu' he's runnin' abou' the buildin' tonight! Aye jus' need t' find him an' then he's fecked.
Pearl: Can I give you a little bit of advice Paddy? There are three in Eire Og and about forty of them… I think they call the thing on your mind, suicidal tendencies. I haven't fired Hate because – well, I can't.
Paddy O'Shea: Attempted murder doesn' contradic' the terms of t'contract?!
Pearl: Without an investigation, no it doesn't. I suppose I could suspend him, with an investigation pending, but going by your desire for a match I guess you don't want that.
O'Shea doesn't respond to this comment at all. Pearl instead puts his hands over his face and sighs.
Pearl: Fine, fine, you can have your match but… I'm not putting you in a straight up match with him… it's too likely those – things of his will interfere and I'm afraid I can't risk possible permanent damage to one of my wrestlers. I think you'll be the first to admit those attacks on you could have left you a lot worse.
Pearl tilts his head backwards in thought and then jolts back into place with a smile on his face.
Pearl: I've got it!
Paddy O'Shea: Aye?
Pearl: I don't want to ruin the surprise right now... but you'll find out a little later. You've got your match... of sorts.
O'Shea regards him.
Paddy O'Shea: We'll see, Mr. Harber, we will see.
O'Shea and Farmer leave the room.
The Translator Steps In
FEATURING: JONNY SAKE, DOCTOR
AUTHOR: JAMES JOHNSON
The camera sees Jonny Sake with his hands on what appears to be a pair of feet underneath a white sheet, His knuckles are all bruised and cut, and his hand is being kept in one position by a brown, Velcro strapped wrist suspender. The metal bar is slipping out and reflecting the light from the window onto the wall to the left of him. The camera scans up toward the top of the bed, it starts to show the partially crippled body of Kris Krimzon. His eyes are bruised an unopened, his chest is just slightly moving up and down, and his ears twitch every couple of seconds. The camera lifts up and back away, it shows the scene of Jonny Sake stood facing a doctor, who is dressed in a long white coat brown pants and black shoes. He has a woman stood next to him; she is wearing a blue Rapid Response Team like clothing. She has a badge on her left breast that reads ‘English – Spanish Translator’.
Jonny Sake: How is he doing?
Translator: ¿Cómo él está haciendo?
Doctor: Él está haciendo muy bien, él hace un hombro dislocado, una mala rodilla e i contusionar.
Translator: He is doing ok, he has a dislocated shoulder, a bad knee and is badly bruised.
Jonny Sake: Well why the hell is he lay in a crippled position?
Translator:¿Mane por qué es él endecha en una posición lisiada?
Doctor: Porque él es un faget!
Translator: Because he is a faget!
Jonny Sake: How long will it be before he can wrestle again?
Translator:¿Cuanto tiempo será antes de que él pueda luchar otra vez?
Doctor: Él podrá luchar en dos a tres semanas.
Translator: He will be able to fight in two to three weeks.
Jonny Sake: What! I slammed him of a f**king building, how can he just have a dislocated shoulder?
Jonny extends his arms and puts his cut and bruised left hand around the neck of the terrified doctor. He lifts the doctor high above his head and starts to shake him around whilst the Translator tries to stop the giant from putting the doctor through any more excruciating pain. But Jonny just thumps her with the back of his suspender and sends her flying on top of the sleeping Krimzon.
Doctor: Déjeme abajo, satisfaga por favor déjeme abajo!
Jonny Sake: What the hell did you just say? Ah well my arms getting tired so bye bye!
Jonny lets go of the perishing Doctor and sends him flying through the air and through the bed of Krimzon. A big thud beckons through ward J of the Malaga ST. George’s hospital, and a large siren screams at a deafening amount of decibels calling for the police.
Introduction
FEATURING: MIGUEL "THE MIDGET" RODRIGUEZ, HANS HEINEMANN, DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!
AUTHOR: PIERRE HYDE
The screen goes to black then fizzles to life suddenly, the letters “AWC” flashing across in a brilliant white light. A moment of silence dominates, then, backed by “Way Away” by Yellowcard, images of AWC’s superstars appear, one after the other. The guitar plays softly first, then goes straight into a strong, powerful riff.
I think I’m breaking out
I’m gonna leave you now
There’s nothing for me here
It’s all the same
The new Transatlantic Champion Pierce Lavelle is shown collapsing into the arms of Senior Referee Michael Ryan as he is handed the title following the Inferno match at Solarized. A pulsating white light continually lights up the screen, as shots of many AWC superstars in action are shown: Hate, Amy Silveira, Jonny Sake.
And even though I know
That everything might go
Go downhill from here
I’m not afraid
A quick collection of highlights from recent shows flash across the screen as the song moves into its chorus. The word “DIE” being brutally cut into Paddy O’Shea’s back; The Farmer lashing Kris Krimzon relentlessly with the Spanish bullwhip; FREDROCK~! nuzzling into Silveira’s breasts.
Way away, away from here I’ll be
Away, away, away, so you can see
How it feels to be alone and not believe
Feels to be alone and not believe
Anything
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: Refresh me!
Miguel Rodriguez: The lights pulse, just like my cock!
Hans Heinemann: ...Welcome to the show.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~! and Miguel “The Midget” Rodriguez react with mock shock to this comment, jumping out of their seats as they notice Hans Heinemann sitting between them.
Miguel Rodriguez: Who are you?!
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: POTATOES!
Hans Heinemann: Hans Heinemann... one-third of this commentary team.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: Like, what?
Miguel Rodriguez: NINE inches! Haha!
Hans Heinemann: Will you two shut up and let me introduce the show?
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: But you’re the ring announcer!
Miguel Rodriguez: No, you no exist!
Hans Heinemann: No! I’m one-third – no, more likely three-quarters of this ill-fated team. Now, on AWC Fresh! tonight –
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: We’ll see chimpanzees.
Hans Heinemann: No, we won’t –
Miguel Rodriguez: Chimpanzees?! Miguel love chimps!
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: Stop being stupid, Miggy.
Hans Heinemann: That’s right –
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: (in a dignified voice) Potatoes.
Hans Heinemann: Ihre Mutter bildet ihrer Ziege Liebe.
Miguel Rodriguez: (shocked) You RUDE!
Hans Heinemann: I give up.
Post-Intro
FEATURING: DAVID "PEARL" HARBER, DR. STEVEN BURNS
AUTHOR: PIERRE HYDE
Fortunately, the speakers in Raimundo Saporta come to life, drowning out any further argument within the already dysfunctional East Atlantic announce team. The Spanish crowd rises to its feet and cheers rowdily as they identify the opening guitar of “Bohemian Like You” by the Dandy Warhols.
Hans Heinemann: David “Pearl” Harber, our Entertainment Manager, is to make his way to the ring...
Miguel Rodriguez: Eek! Hide me!
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~! leaps onto Rodriguez’s head, flattening him.
Miguel Rodriguez: Ouch!
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: You’re hurt?
Miguel Rodriguez: My beeg boy was crushed!
Hans Heinemann: Miguel, what is that accent, really?
Miguel Rodriguez: There is no accent on any of those words!
Hans Heinemann: No, I mean the way you are speaking, you fool. Where are you from?
Miguel Rodriguez: Que?
Hans Heinemann: (loudly) What country were you born in?
Miguel Rodriguez: Ah, yes! One half Portugal, one half México, one half España.
Hans Heinemann: You are made up of three halves?
Miguel Rodriguez: Si, one for my song.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: Your SCHLONG.
Miguel Rodriguez: Si, my schlong.
By this time, Pearl is in the ring, waiting for the hubbub to die down as his music fades away and the ring announcer, James Brunt, gives him a microphone.
Pearl: It’s a pleasure to be here in Madrid tonight. You guys out there seem like a great crowd, and we’re gonna put on a damn good show for you.
There is a small pop. Audience members wave their signs: “Amo AWC”, “Harber es un homo”, “I had Miggy’s beeg boy”.
Pearl: All I’m out here for, though, is to hand you right over to the head of the medical staff of AWC, Dr. Steven Burns, who wants to tell you a little about a boyhood hero of his.
Miguel Rodriguez: What he say? My ears all waxy.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: I think it’s a metaphor, Miggy.
Hans Heinemann: What precisely was metaphorical?!
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: Aren’t you feeling the deep, philosophical vibes?
Miguel Rodriguez: “VIBES” SOUND LIKE “VIBRATOR”!
There is a slightly confused silence as Steven Burns comes down the ramp, swallowing as he keeps his eyes fixed on the ring. He climbs awkwardly in, this probably being his first time in the squared circle, and Harber and Brunt back away after the Entertainment Manager has passed on the microphone. The house lights dim, and focus turns to the big screen, which is now displaying a large photograph of a wrestler.
Dr. Steven Burns: Giant Haystacks. A legend to many, an inspiration for some.
The text “GIANT HAYSTACKS” fades in over the photograph of the famed British wrestler in action, along with his dates of birth and death: 1946-1998.
Dr. Steven Burns: I grew up watching wrestling on a Saturday, as did a lot of the UK population. Giant Haystacks and his contemporaries would regularly pull in audiences of up to ten million people – quite a feat in the early 1970s.
More photographs of the 6’11” monster heel cross the screen in a nicely-worked montage.
Dr. Steven Burns: His ongoing feud with Big Daddy, another legend of the time, captured the imaginations of thousands of young English boys – myself included. Having spent his childhood avoiding the bullies of Salford, near Manchester, wrestling allowed him to use his size to his advantage, and Martin Ruane – the Giant’s real name – learned to love the gimmick that he had initially disliked. His daily breakfast of twelve eggs and three pounds of bacon allowed him to maintain his immense strength. Giant Haystacks – who wrestled in America and Canada for a short period as the Loch Ness Monster – had friends in high places – Sir Paul McCartney, of The Beatles, invited him to appear in the film “Give My Regards To Broad Street” in 1984.
The screen switches to a close-up of Ruane’s face.
Dr. Steven Burns: Before his dreams of working with Hulk Hogan could be realised, however, Martin Ruane was diagnosed with cancer. He passed away in December 1998 at the age of 52.
The video fades to black as the house lights return.
Dr. Steven Burns: In seventeen days’ time, AWC will host its first show in England: The Battle Of Britain. Mr. David Harber has kindly given me permission to organise a special match in the honour of the big man who flew the flag for British wrestling for so long.
Rumbles start to grow among the previously silent fans, anticipating the first unveiling of a match for the upcoming pay-per-view.
Dr. Steven Burns: Just as Martin Ruane pushed wrestling forward in his twenty-eight years as an active wrestler, his tribute match will be a triumph of innovation. I propose to hold the Giant Haystacks Invitational, a match that will honour his name in more ways than one. The cluster match will take place in a farmyard, where we will see barn animals, water troughs – and giant haystacks.
Burns smiles as many fans catch on.
Dr. Steven Burns: The only method of elimination in this match will be to pin an opponent beneath a giant haystack itself. Referees at hand will need to count the 1-2-3 as a wrestler lies motionless with a hay bale on top of him.
Hans Heinemann: And he’s taken it too far...
Dr. Steven Burns: However, I recognise that honouring Giant Haystacks’ life and career should not be just about AWC – and so I am proposing that the Giant Haystacks Invitational is, as the name implies, an open-invitation match. Any wrestler from any promotion in the world will be able to pay tribute to this great man and what he did for the sport – as long as they can get to Southern England on August 19th. We could see this generation’s top stars! We could see veterans returning for one night only! But most of all, I hope that we see those wrestlers intent on honouring properly the memory of Martin Ruane.
Slightly embarrassed he has gone on so long, Dr. Steven Burns hands the microphone back to Pearl, who shakes his hand, beaming.
Pearl: And now, Steven, I’ve got a surprise for you. Our Relentless champion Steven Xandrous has already volunteered to participate in this match – and he’ll be putting his belt on the line.
Burns watches Harber, clearly unsure of whether this is appropriate for what the match is about, but the huge pop from the crowd wins him over, and the doctor makes no protest. The Dandy Warhols’ “Bohemian Like You” hits the speakers once more, and Harber and Burns return to backstage together, the image of Giant Haystacks burning brightly above them on the big screen.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: We have our first match for The Battle Of Britain in place!
Miguel Rodriguez: Sounds very exciting!
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: A little knowledge is a dangerous thing, Miggy...
Hans Heinemann: ...Er, if you say so, David. Now! On with the show!
Jonny Sake vs Gabriel vs Void
STIPULATION: THREE WAY FURY
REFEREE: JOSEPH REID
AUTHOR: PIERRE HYDE
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: As you say, Hans. We’ll be starting off with a fight for sore eyes, as Jonny Sake, Void and Gabriel duke it.
Hans Heinemann: Duke it out.
Miguel Rodriguez: Jerk it out.
Hans Heinemann: But before we progress, I must announce that Kuff McSlade has departed from AWC. He has cancelled his verbal contract with the company.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: Truth won’t be happy!
Miguel Rodriguez: Neezer will Hans! He never happy.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: Why’s he gone, captain?
Hans Heinemann: My guess is that he was unhappy at taking two straight losses in his first matches.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: A penny saved is a penny earned.
Hans Heinemann: ...
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: BANANA!
The lights dim and blue lights are flashed around the arena. The start of "Rape Me" by Nirvana then hits. Gabriel walks out onto the stage dressed all in black with a hood over his head.
James Brunt: The following is a Three Way Fury match!
The black coat he is wearing trails all the way down to the floor as he makes his way down the ramp.
James Brunt: Introducing first, from Brooklyn, New York, weighing in at 235 pounds... “The Angel Of Death” GABRIEL!
Gabriel then enters the ring and pulls his hood down.
Miguel Rodriguez: It’s mini-Hate!
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: You’re right! Gabriel is a doorman’s Hate!
Hans Heinemann: This time I will not bother to correct you, David.
Miguel Rodriguez: Who David?
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: Yeah, who’s David? Wait – that’s the name of a Busted song! “Are you suuure... that you’re miiine? Aren’t you daaating other guys?” POTATOES!
“Reflection” by Tool cuts out any further pop-rock sing-alongs as the inconsistent Void comes down the ramp.
Hans Heinemann: I thought this was going to be a match of three big men, but Void and Gabriel are both a lot smaller than you’d imagine.
Miguel Rodriguez: The opposite of my willy!
James Brunt: And his opponent, weighing in at 229 pounds... VOID!
Void gets into the ring and stares at Gabriel, who turns away. The plodding piano of Linkin Park’s “In The End” now starts.
James Brunt: Finally, from Manhattan, New York, weighing in at 346 pounds... JONNY SAKE!
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: I don’t know what to think of this kid anymore.
Hans Heinemann: Kid? He’s well over two metres tall!
Miguel Rodriguez: My beeg boy can reach this length. If it is stroked prop –
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: POTATOES!
Hans Heinemann: Good call.
“In The End” now moves into its chorus, and there is still no sign of Jonny Sake.
Miguel Rodriguez: Where is he?
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: He was attacking Kris Krimzon in hospital just a few minutes ago...
Hans Heinemann: And that hospital is in Malaga!
Miguel Rodriguez: That is – that is – MANY WAY from here!
Hans Heinemann: There is no way Jonny Sake is going to arrive for this match.
The crowd start to become restless as Linkin Park’s gutter fare continues, as do the wrestlers in the ring, Gabriel and Void, who are tensely watching each other.
Hans Heinemann: Their muscles are becoming cold, and you can see Void flexing his thighs, trying to keep warm and ready for action.
Finally, a decision is evidently made as the music fades away and the house lights come up as the bell is rung. Joseph Reid yells – a little pointlessly – for Gabriel and Void to begin, which they do, amid a little confusion. Gabriel looks for a hard forearm strike, but Layne Sorensen avoids it, going straight into a front facelock. Gabriel is making as if to escape, however, shaping for a retaliatory forearm into Void’s abdomen, so Void converts quickly into a twisting neckbreaker.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: CRACK!
Miguel Rodriguez: Sorry, only weed, essa.
Hans Heinemann: Void’s unforgiving neckbreaker will give him time to devise a new strategy, based now on only one opponent.
Void lays into Gabriel with hard stomps to his upper back.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: His so-called strategy seems to be relentless aggression, Hans. Still, there’s more than one way to stroke a cat.
Gabriel forcefully leaps at Void from a hands-and-knees position, the double-leg takedown knocking Sorensen to the canvas. It’s now his turn to try and keep the opponent down as he mounts Void’s body and lays into him with punches.
Hans Heinemann: Now I am never going to understand why brawlers like this are even employed. In that situation one would hope to see an armbar, or a sleeper hold, perhaps. But these repeated punches show no tact or intelligence whatsoever.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: Punch his lights out! Works for me.
Miguel Rodriguez: (in a curt tone) This does not erect me.
Gabriel now backs off, moving to the second turnbuckle in a corner as Void comes to his feet.
Miguel Rodriguez: Ready to fly, wiseguy?
He leaps off with a diving spear, surprising Void as all Gabriel’s 235 pounds come crashing into his abdomen. The crowd cheer for the move.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: POTATOES!
Miguel Rodriguez: Jumping tackle – in my pants.
Hans Heinemann: Void looks like he’s been winded.
Gabriel pulls Void up to his feet and slaps him mercilessly across the face. A whip to the ropes follows, and Gabriel gets up high as he looks for a superkick. Void sees it coming, however, and spins away before raising a flat arm level with his head and slamming it across Gabriel’s chin! Gabriel is knocked to a sitting position at once.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: Completely stunned!
Hans Heinemann: That was The Scattering, and Void could have turned this match around.
However, eyes blazing, Gabriel struggles back to his feet. Surprised, Void tries to knock him back down with a leaping roundhouse kick, but Gabriel catches his leg and throws him roughly away.
Hans Heinemann: Gabriel showing inhuman powers of recovery – yet we still have not seen a proper wrestling move in this match!
Void rolls with the fall and comes to his feet, but Gabriel knocks him square in the jaw with a right fist. The Angel Of Death now roars into action with a breathtaking sequence of blows to Void’s upper body and head.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: He’s unstoppable!
Hans Heinemann: Gabriel seems to really have taken offence at being knocked down by The Scattering – to the extent that he is unleashing anything and everything on Void, who is powerless to resist it!
Miguel Rodriguez: Tweeelve inches! Yahoo!
Referee Joseph Reid now leaps in between the two grapplers, warning Gabriel against the use of the closed fist. Gabriel brushes him aside and Irish-whips Void into the corner. There is an “OOOH!” from the crowd at the sound of Void’s back slamming against the turnbuckle. Gabriel now flattens him with a running splash.
Hans Heinemann: Gabriel rushes at Void.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: Fools rush in where angels give head.
Miguel Rodriguez: An angel gave me h –
Hans Heinemann: Where angels fear to tread!
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: Meh, at least it was relevant.
Hans Heinemann: ...Kartoffeln.
Grabbing Void’s throat, Gabriel proceeds to choke him out against the top of the ringpost. Void’s arms flail violently but they can do nothing against the energy-sapping illegal attack.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: Below the belt!
Miguel Rodriguez: You want me check again? Hmm... eeeeleven. Gone down a bit.
Joseph Reid, happy to be able to exert his authority, brandishes a finger in the face of The Angel Of Death. Gabriel, however, continues on his destructive bent, seemingly unwilling to let go until strangulation is complete.
Hans Heinemann: Stop this right now!
Reid calls for the bell with a sneer just as Butch Radder bursts through the curtain and sprints down the ramp. The referee joins him in attempting to pull Gabriel off.
Miguel Rodriguez: That is very interesting sentence.
Hans Heinemann: What has got into Gabriel?
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: Ever since The Scattering. It’s like it was a blow to his pride.
Bruno Hague joins Radder, and eventually they manage to get Gabriel under control. Void has slumped to the mat and is massaging his neck, but definitely conscious.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: He lives! He lives!
Hans Heinemann: Well, next we are going to be viewing an emergency meeting David Harber has called with The Educator.
Miguel Rodriguez: The Educator STOLE Frontier and Livewire title belts a few week ago, and Pearl asks Kreesh Kreemzon to get them back –
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: Which Kris did! HIGH FIVES ALL ROUND!
Miguel Rodriguez: But is then LURED up onto the roof by The Educator and new friend Jonny Sake –
Hans Heinemann: And Krimzon was, of course, subjected to a sickening attack from which he was lucky to escape alive. Another concern for Pearl, however, is that the entire ‘luring onto the roof’ happened before Krimzon could hand him the belt – so, I would assume The Educator retook possession of the Frontier title Krimzon tricked him out of.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: And that’s why he’s called this meeting! Buff is the stuff, he’s decided.
Hans Heinemann: ...Enough’s enough?
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: SHAMROCK!
The Steal Deal
FEATURING: DAVID "PEARL" HARBER, THE EDUCATOR
AUTHOR: PIERRE HYDE
The meeting room has been arranged in the most imposing manner possible. The sleek cherry wood of the long table reflects the strip lighting from above, sending a vicious glare into the eyes of any who dare to take a seat in one of the dozen high leather chairs, maroon in colour, upright by nature, forcing all to pay the utmost attention to what might be being said.
This evening, the room is empty, bar a chair at one end of the table, which is occupied by David “Pearl” Harber, looking relaxed in his yellow polo shirt. He sits attentively, arms folded in front of him and hands clasped firmly together, managing to exude an air of confidence despite the actual uncertainty running through his mind. The Educator will hold all the cards in the forthcoming meeting, but Harber wishes to reverse this impression.
The door is pushed open.
Pearl: Come in...
Harber raises an eyebrow at the presumptuous entrance of The Educator, who now stands in the doorway dressed in a fine suit, each of his two stolen title belts draped over his shoulders.
Pearl: Ah, Mr. Masters. I see you brought the very articles in question. Shall we get down to business?
Without a word, The Educator draws out the chair at the opposite end of the table and sits down, frowning at the uncomfortable position his body is being forced to take.
Pearl: (pleasantly) Yes, do take a seat.
The Educator: Do skip to the point, please. Your boardroom tricks don’t fool me.
Pearl: (in a mock crestfallen tone) They don’t?
Educator narrows his eyes.
The Educator: I know the tricks of the trade, Mr. Harber, and I’m aware that this façade is all a simple and amateurish attempt to disguise the fact that I am in control here. We’re meeting on my terms... so shall we make it The Educator who pushes forward the agenda?
Pearl makes no response. The Educator smiles genially.
The Educator: Good. Now, our first item to discuss –
Pearl: (in a low voice) I’ll cut you a deal, Masters.
Educator raises his eyebrows at this sudden break in etiquette by the Entertainment Manager.
The Educator: Oh?
Pearl: You know as well as I that I need the Frontier title belt tonight. I hate to do this, but I see no other way, now that Krimzon’s in hospital – something that you were behind, no doubt.
The Educator grins.
The Educator: Not a chance.
Pearl: Jonny Sake is too easy to manipulate...
The Educator: (mockingly) Never!
Pearl: Anyway. To the deal. Hand over the Frontier championship belt to me right now... and I’ll make your Livewire title reign official.
Educator cocks his head to one side, pretending to consider.
The Educator: Hmm... no.
Pearl runs a tired hand through his hair.
Pearl: What do you suggest, then? I’ll remind you that you stole those belts.
The Educator: I’ve grown rather fond of being a double champion, but in particular, I like the Frontier belt... it has more of a shine to it, don’t you think? Reverse the offer and we have a deal. My Frontier championship reign is official, and you get the Livewire belt.
Pearl: (angrily) You know it’s the Frontier belt I need!
The Educator: So change the match. Tell Tim Shipley, Amy Silveira and Crimson O’Malec that they’ll be fighting it out for the Livewire, rather than the Frontier, championship. I’m sure they’ll be most understanding...
Harber lets out a loud, frustrated sigh.
Pearl: How about I make the Livewire reign official and take the Frontier belt, but I give you a shot at whoever wins the main event tonight?
The Educator: Ooh... we’re getting closer. I think one more improvement would just tip the scales...
The smarmy grin on the face of Adam Masters is clearly starting to annoy Harber.
Pearl: Tip the scales, huh?
The Educator: Oh, yes. You see, we both know what is one step up from a Frontier title shot... and that is...
Educator trails off, prompting Pearl’s response.
Pearl: Masters, you know I can’t give you a Transatlantic title shot! You haven’t earned the right to that at all!
The Educator: Oh, fair enough then.
The Educator stands up.
The Educator: Deal’s off. See you later, Mr. Harber...
Pearl stands up hurriedly.
Pearl: W-wait... wait. I’ll –
Harber stops, exhaling heavily. Educator raises an eyebrow.
The Educator: Mm?
Pearl: Alright, alright. You can have your Transatlantic title shot... and your Frontier title shot... and I’ll make your Livewire title reign official, backdated to when you first took possession of the belt. Happy now?
The Educator: Ecstatic.
Slowly, The Educator removes the Frontier belt from his left shoulder and holds it out for Pearl.
Pearl: No emotional goodbye, huh?
He takes the title belt from him.
The Educator: (coldly) Oh, I’ll be seeing that belt again soon enough.
To The Educator’s dismay, a smile spreads over Pearl’s face.
Pearl: Good luck with that.
The Educator narrows his eyes. Pearl guides him out of the room and shuts the door. He leans against it, breathing hard, a bigger grin creeping over his face.
Pearl: The Educator’s going to have one interesting pay-per-view...
Manager's Advice
FEATURING: AMY SILVEIRA, HUGO SILVEIRA
AUTHOR: DAVID "DJ" HEDLEY
The broadcast moves backstage and to a fairly average quality locker room, which is laid out in a fashion not to dis-similar to the locker rooms at the previous Spanish arena in Màlaga. There is a bed against the wall to the right of the door, which from a first glance would not be too comfortable to lie on, judging by the rough and scruffy nature of the mattress. There is also a locker in a style that is identical to those from previous arenas - grey, and made of metal, with two doors much like a typical American school locker. Sitting in the room is the Portuguese manager Hugo Silveira, propped up on the endboard of the uncomfortable bed in the room. In front of him is a vacant stool, but instead of sitting on it he simply leans the sole of his left shoe on the end of it. He appears to be waiting for someone, and in doing so he has a fixed gaze on the light grey wall in front of him. The door opens a little behind him, and as if listening all of the time for it to happen, Hugo immediately turns to see his daughter and Frontier title contender Amy Silveira at the door behind him.
Amy makes her way in, already dressed in her ring attire of a pair of decorated, tight-sitting jeans and a white top, before sitting on the bed with her hands around her knees, facing her father. Hugo, meanwhile, now decides to sit in the stool facing the bed, presumably to talk to his daughter.
Hugo Silveira: Ok, as you know.. You've got a title match tonight..
Hugo speaks with a serious yet laid-back attitude, no doubt trying to not seem too harsh on his daughter, who has been throwing in at the deep end of the card despite only being a rookie in the sport. Amy smiles a little, her lipgloss shimmering in the dim light as she does so.
Hugo Silveira: And because you've got a title match, the interviewer wants to ask you a few questions before your match.
Amy Silveira: ..what questions?
Hugo Silveira:: You know, the usual "Can you win the match?", "What do you think of Tim Shipley?", "How come you wear more clothes than Veronica Paige?", and so on.
Amy Silveira: Veronica who?
Hugo Silveira: Nevermind, you get the point.
Amy's smile had gone when the interview was mentioned, and now she had fell a little nervous. Despite having two matches and two pinfall wins under her belt, she wasn't prepared for actually speaking to the fans.
Amy Silveira: So, er.. What do I say?
Hugo laughed a little under his breath, looking at his daughter in a professional manner.
Hugo Silveira: Don't worry about it, I'm your manager, I'll get you through it.
Amy Silveira: Oh.. kay..
The length of Amy's "ok" suggested sarcasm at his getting her through it, but Hugo ignored it as always, instead just re-adjusting himself in his seat.
Hugo Silveira: It'll be ok, don't worry about it.. Anyway, I have to go and see the interviewer, so..
Hugo stands up, leaving the room and leaving his daughter to a few minutes on her own. She sighs, shaking her head a little and lying back on the bed, looking up at the ceiling above and slowly sliding her white trainers off and onto the floor.
Paddy O'Shea vs Mike Wade
STIPULATION: SINGLES
REFEREE: AARON DAVIES
AUTHOR: JAAKKO OKSA
James Brunt: The following is a singles match.
Miguel Rodriguez: And up next, we have Paddy O’Shea against fellow, or perhaps rival Irishman Mike Wade.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: Gimme an I! Gimme an R! Gimme –
Hans Heinemann: I guess it’s too much to expect you to not pick sides in this fight… And too much to expect a wrestling match while we’re at it.
James Brunt: Introducing first, from Galway, Ireland and weighing in at 180 pounds … PADDY O’SHEA!
The call of the uilean pipes booms from the speakers and fills the arena in a short solo of beautiful intent. As the crowd look on in awe, the video screen slowly fades from black into the flag of Ireland - the green, white and gold of the tri-colour, rippling in the wind. The spotlights suddenly pan down to the entrance, just as the uilean pipes are replaced by "Raggle Taggle Gypsy" by Christy Moore. The roar of an engine is heard, just before a mobile home emerges, being driven by Paddy O'Shea, who has a somewhat unnerving smile affixed to his weather-torn face. O'Shea drives the mobile home down the gantry and parks it by the ring before hopping out to a cheer of admiration.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: There he is! Paddy O’Shea! Y’know, Paddy’s been taking shi… crap from every which way lately. There’s Hate, there’s Wade calling him stereotypical… THAT BASTARD! He’s a disgrace to the emerald isle.
Hans Heinemann: Dear Lord, what did I do to deserve this…
Miguel Rodriguez: Well tonight, O’Shea can fix one problem he been having.
O'Shea raises his arms in triumph and plays to the crowd until his music cuts out. O’Shea tests the ropes once and then stands in the middle of the ring.
James Brunt: And his opponent, currently vacationing in Miami, Florida and weighing in at 209 and ¾ pounds… MIKE WADE!
”Jump Around” by House Of Pain hits the speakers and Mike Wade pops out of the entranceway, waving nonchalantly at the booing Spanish fans. Wade walks down to the ringside looking very cocky and then slides into the ring, getting straight into Paddy O’Shea’s face. Wade smiles at O’Shea, who just stares at his opponent. The crowd begins to chant in favor of O’Shea, who doesn’t seem to react to the support he’s getting.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: Here we go! FIGHTING IRISH! Go get him, Paddy!
Miguel Rodriguez: You can do eet, O’Shea! Kick him in his ugly, hairy balls!
In the ring, Wade mouths off the word ”stereotypical” to O’Shea… Which turns out to be a big mistake as O’Shea instantly connects with a huge haymaker into the chin of Mike Wade! Wade stumbles back as the smaller O’Shea peppers him with punches, and the referee shows the ring attendants to ring the bell as a signal that the match has actually started. O’Shea backs Wade into the ropes and goes for a huge punch, but Wade ducks and slides out of the ring, to the chagrin of the crowd and O’Shea.
Hans Heinemann: And Karl Gotch rolls over in his grave as this punchkick machine O’Shea gets to work, driving Mike Wade to the outside. If I was Wade, I’d just leave now and not taint my legacy with an awful match like this is surely going to be.
Miguel Rodriguez: You know what’s wrong with you, Hans?
Hans Heinemann: I dread to ask… What?
Miguel Rodriguez: You talk too muchos. Shut the heell up.
Mike Wade walks around the ring as the referee Aaron Davies starts the count.
1… 2… 3… 4… 5…
At six Wade slides into the ring and O’Shea instantly besets him with punches, but Wade is quicker as he grabs O’Shea’s leg and trips him down. From there, Wade quickly gets up and delivers a quick low dropkick to the crotch area of O’Shea, garnering boos from the crowd. Davies instantly takes Wade into the corner and demands him to explain his actions, but Wade insists that he didn’t do anything illegal.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: THE CROWN JEWELS ARE UNDER ATTACK!
Davies lets Wade go with a warning, and His Swerviness instantly goes on to stomp on O’Shea. Wade grabs O’Shea’s leg and twists it into a half Boston crab before grabbing the other leg as well and modifying the hold into a kneeling Texas cloverleaf. Paddy O’Shea squirms in agony as he tries to make it to the ropes before the pain becomes too much.
Hans Heinemann: An intelligent strategy from Mike Wade: disable the brawler O’Shea and then put him into a submission, something O’Shea knows NOTHING about.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~! He kicked my mate Paddy in the CROWN JEWELS, you POTATOES German!
Hans Heinemann: What, I said disable didn’t I?
O’Shea slowly drags himself to the ropes, but Wade isn’t letting go of the hold even if Aaron Davies is demanding him to. Finally Davies pulls Mike Wade off and issues him a second warning, telling Wade that the next one means disqualification. Wade bitches at the referee for a while before he turns around and picks Paddy O’Shea up. O’Shea, who is still hurting from the submission, barely has any time to react as Wade plants him with a T-bone suplex in the middle of the ring. Wade pins lazily, barely pulling on O’Shea’s leg as he covers.
ONE!
TWO!
O’Shea kicks out with some force, sending a clear message to Mike Wade that he isn’t done yet. Wade merely shakes his head and gets up, stomping on O’Shea again before grabbing his legs.
Miguel Rodriguez: And O’Shea fights his way out of that pin. What a greet fighting man.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: We Irish always are! Didn’t you see me fight that soda machine in the lobby earlier tonight?
Miguel Rodriguez: I sure deed. Poor old machine, never stood a chance.
Mike Wade tries to turn O’Shea into the sharpshooter, but O’Shea fights back. Instead, Wade gives him a quick kick to the guts and rolls O’Shea quickly onto his feet. Paddy O’Shea manages to stand up for a few seconds before Wade mows him down with a clothesline. Mike Wade stands next to O’Shea, asks for the crowd to quiet down and then does an impressive standing shooting star press onto O’Shea. This time, Wade grabs the leg fully as he covers.
ONE!
TWO!
O’Shea barely kicks out before three, and the crowd pops for him as Mike Wade screams and bangs the mat with his fist. Wade gets up and yells at Aaron Davies to count faster the next time, but Davies just shakes his head and shows two fingers to the infuriated Wade.
Hans Heinemann: A useless flip and a useless cover.
Miguel Rodriguez: I thought it was a preetty fleep.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~! It was flipping crap!
Mike Wade pulls Paddy O’Shea up and plants a few forearms into his face, but O’Shea shakes them off and gets straight into Wade’s face. Wade doesn’t know what to do as he slaps O’Shea, which proves to be another mistake as O’Shea unleashes a flurry of right hands that back Wade up to the ropes again. Wade tries to escape through the ropes, but O’Shea stops him and pulls him into a standing position on the apron. O’Shea hooks Wade up and then suplexes him off the apron and into the ring, slamming Wade down hard. O’Shea immediately covers as the crowd cheers for the big move.
ONE!
TWO!
Wade kicks out at two, but Paddy O’Shea assaults him relentlessly, kicking him down hard. O’Shea elbow-drops Wade in the ribs before pulling him up, dazing him again with a flurry of punches.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~! YES! YES! YES! YEEEEESSS! GIVE THAT SCOTTISH NOGOOD WHAT FOR GUINNESS! *hyperventilating*
Miguel Rodriguez: Easy there, big feller! We don’t want to have to carry your corpse out of heere.
Hans Heinemann: He’s just punching him in the face for Christ-sakes! WRESTLE, you inbred Irishman!
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~! What you say?
Miguel Rodriguez: Someone set us up the bomb!
Hans Heinemann & DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: ….
Miguel Rodriguez: What?
O’Shea whips Mike Wade into the ropes, and as Wade comes back O’Shea whips him off of his feet with a huge powerslam, sending Wade crashing to the mat. Wade gasps for air as O’Shea covers him again.
ONE!
TWO!
Wade barely has time to kick out, and the crowd boos in disbelief as he gets out. O’Shea sits up and shakes his head, temporarily out of breath himself.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~! Damn that... disgrace!
Paddy O’Shea pulls Mike Wade up again, laying into him with several punches. O’Shea then whips Wade into the ropes again, and as he comes back O’Shea grabs him and goes for the Paddy-Go-Around. However, Mike Wade utilizes his athletic ability and flips onto his feet, to the surprise of O’Shea and the crowd. Wade doesn’t waste any time as he delivers a solid superkick to the face of O’Shea, knocking him onto his back.
Miguel Rodriguez: What a kick to the jaaw by Mike Wade.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: NOOO! NOOO! NOOO!
Wade points to the top rope and suddenly springs into action, basically running up to the top turnbuckle. Wade doesn’t waste any time as he takes flight with a beautiful moonsault, connecting perfectly with the prone O’Shea. Wade cradles the leg and grabs a handful of tights as well as Aaron Davies starts the count.
Miguel Rodriguez: That be it!
ONE!
TWO!
THR-
Just before he reaches three, Davies notices Wade’s dirty trick and stops the count. Wade gets up, screaming into Davies’ face, but Aaron Davies does not reverse his decision. Wade cusses Davies out and then jumps to the top turnbuckle again, obviously going for another moonsault.
Hans Heinemann: Another useless flip, another fruitless cover. Mike Wade should start doing something else.
However, the time Wade spent arguing with Davies has left O’Shea with enough time to clear his head, and as Wade stands on the top rope, O’Shea suddenly lunges off the mat and grabs the top rope, crotching Mike Wade on the turnbuckle. The fans start cheering as O’Shea positions himself beneath Wade, spreading his arms out.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: YES! YES! THIS IS IT! GUINNESS!
O’Shea pulls Wade into the air and plants him with a high-flying St. Columbus Cross. The fans cheer as O’Shea drops onto Mike Wade, covering him as Aaron Davies starts the count.
Miguel Rodriguez: He got ’im! He got ’im! Wade is not going anywhere!
ONE!
TWO!
THREE!
The fans start cheering as Aaron Davies’ hand slaps the mat the third time and the bell rings. O’Shea gets up on shaky legs and Aaron Davies pulls his arm into the air to signal the victor while Mike Wade rolls out of the ring holding the back of his head. Wade quickly makes his exit, not feeling like arguing the jeering Spanish fans. O’Shea celebrates in the ring as the fans show him their support.
Hans Heinemann: Damn. The worst wrestler won this match tonight.
James Brunt: The winner... PADDY O’SHEA!
O’Shea laughs and looks down at Wade.
Miguel Rodriguez: Just shut the heell up, Heinemann! O’Shea worked his fingers to the bone to get this win!
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: Paddy rightly wins the battle of Ireland, just ten days before The Battle Of Britain!
Just as O’Shea is about to leave the ring, ”North American Corpse Desecration” by Agoraphobic Nosebleed rips through the sound system and the Spanish audience explodes into boos.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: NO! Hasn’t he done enough?
Hate, dressed in his trenchcoat and with his gas mask on, appears in the entranceway, and Paddy O’Shea immediately goes to the ropes to yell at him. As O’Shea stands there, he doesn’t notice a black-clad minion sliding in behind him, the same who cut him with a knife a week ago. As O’Shea’s eyes are fixed on Hate, the minion comes up from behind and slams O’Shea in the back of the head with a tire iron, laying him out. Hate rushes the ring as well, and the two start putting the boots on O’Shea.
Hans Heinemann: I’m glad there’s someone around here to teach respect to the kinds of O’Shea.
Miguel Rodriguez: What the heell are you talking about, Heinemann? This is a beeting, not a teeching! You bastard.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: Hate attacked O’Shea last week, and I KNEW that he couldn’t keep his hands off of him this week either!
As Azagtoth keeps O’Shea down, Hate climbs the top rope and without any further ado delivers the Death From Above onto O’Shea’s chest. Paddy O’Shea rolls around in pain as Hate and Azagtoth make their exit, with the crowd booing them loudly and viciously.
Miguel Rodriguez: There’s normal heet… And then there’s Heet.
Hans Heinemann: That made absolutely no sense yet again. But anyway, your winner tonight, PADDY O’SHEA, as much as I disliked it.
The Furious Fists of God
FEATURING: LIAM AND TIM
AUTHOR: SAM LANDRY
The scene opens inside a green room of sorts, fairly bland and not special. The two important things in the room are the two men sitting in the chairs facing the camera. From sitting, you can tell they are large, about 6’5” each and near 300 lbs. The one on the left has a foul scowl on his face. His head is shaved and his eyes are sunken with a deep, scary look. He is wearing a tight black sleeveless tee shirt with his arms showing. On his arms are dozens of tattoos…the readable ones say “The Eagles Nest”, “Our Father, Our Protector”, and “The Furious Fists”. There are also pictures of Eagles, crosses, and hands clutching crosses. His black jeans match his black boots as well. The one on the right has a more laid back look. That’s not saying it’s not serious, but just not as intense. His eyes are shallow and brown. The hair on his head is short but all over the place, as if he just got out of bed. He is wearing a white windbreaker and blue jeans, tightly pressed against his body. His boots are black as well, the same style as the other man.
Man On Right: My name is Tim Martin, and this is my brother Liam.
Liam: Hello.
When they speak, they have very basic New England accents, nothing that stands out too much to distract you. They don’t move much when they speak, but their voices are strong and deep.
Tim: We’ve seen the AWC, and we’ve seen the wrestlers…
Liam: Pathetic.
Tim: Yes, very. We see all these men who claim to be athletes, but they’re missing one thing from their side…
Liam grabs from behind the side table a bible and holds it in front of him.
Liam: The power of the white lord!
Tim: All these pathetic do-no-gooders run around with their egos and their money, but not once do they thank the lord for what they have. And to top it all off, the AWC is full of dregs, from its fans to its staff to its wrestlers.
Liam places the Holy Book on the table next to him.
Liam: What my brother Tim means is that the AWC is not a pure company. There are Mexicans, blacks, gays, Asians…all infuriating our lord.
Tim: Does no one see the connection with America being the prosperous land it is, AND having a majority of our population be white? It is because OUR LORD wants the White Man to prosper…everything else can just disappear.
Liam nods in agreement, his eyes and face deep with interest.
Tim: But we’re not here to preach. We’re here to show what the power of the Lord can do to help you. With commitment and faith, the Lord can bring the best out of any white man. He can push two hard working, extraordinary men like Liam and I to the top, crushing everything in our way. Now that you know our mission, you have two options. Option A is that you open your ears and realize that what we’re saying is right. Then, you open your eyes and see us crushing our weak opponents under His watch. You then join the community of the Lord and sing his praises, working hard every day to please him and yourself.
Liam finally forces a smile, which looks more sinister than his scowl.
Liam: Option B is something you won’t want. Option B is that you cheer for those other wrestlers, that you say “Gee, those guys are wrong!” You watch your favorite wrestler get crushed via the fists of God, and then when you die you burn in Hell.
Tim: Now, let us pray…
The two bow their heads in prayer.
Liam: ”Our Father which art in heaven, Hallowed be thy name. Thy kingdom come. Thy will be done in earth, as it is in heaven. Give us this day our daily bread. And forgive us our sins, as we forgive those who sin against us. And lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil: For thine is the kingdom, and the power, and the glory, forever and ever. Amen. Dear Lord, thank you for this opportunity you have blessed us with to spread your word and you message of power. We ask you to forgive those who are too foolish to believe in our word, and we pray that you forgive them somehow. We thank you for making the White race a superior race, and we ask for your power to help us keep it that way. Thank you Lord. Amen.
The two lift their heads from prayer.
Tim: We are the Furious Fists of God, and may He have mercy on your soul…
The scene cuts away with the two staring at the screen, glaring.
Conflict Of Interests
FEATURING: PIERCE LAVELLE AND TIM SHIPLEY
AUTHORS: PIERRE HYDE AND LARA CLARKE
The scene opens backstage in the Raimundo Saporta arena in Madrid. Tim Shipley is dressed in his ring attire, performing some stretches and listening to an iPod which nestles in the top pocket of his dark shirt - the one with orange pinstripes, that he seemingly always wears. The fans cheer around the arena, but they are barely heard by “Summer’s Son”.
Pierce Lavelle enters dressed in normal attire, talking on his mobile. His sunglasses are still on. Tim Shipley doesn’t hear him enter and continues his work-out. Lavelle closes his mobile with the formal “goodbye” and then turns his attention to Tim Shipley.
Pierce Lavelle: Em, Tim?
Tim Shipley stops and unplugs his earphones, he pulls up a towel and wipes his forehead and takes a seat.
Pierce Lavelle: Sorry for disturbing you.
Tim Shipley: No, it’s fine.
Pierce Lavelle sits down, and shoves his mobile into his pocket.
Pierce Lavelle: I think we need to talk.
Tim Shipley: Yeah? What about?
Pierce Lavelle: Our duo, The Academy. I think we need to work a few things out before our next match, well whenever that next match might be. We‘ve got to go over what we did last time against Emerald Isle, you know, work on the rights and improve the wrongs.
Tim Shipley stares at Lavelle and then turns off his iPod.
Tim Shipley: Well - obviously… but not now, OK, Pierce? I‘ve got a match tonight. Remember? Three Way Fury, for the Frontier title. That‘s important to me, OK? Can‘t we discuss this another time?
Lavelle looks at him blankly.
Tim Shipley: My matches are important too, you know.
Pierce Lavelle: I see… well, sorry for disturbing you.
Pierce Lavelle looks around at the locker room, empty bar Shipley’s duffle bag and casual attire slumped over a spare chair. Lavelle turns around to look his partner in the face.
Pierce Lavelle: (in a hollow voice) Good luck with your match.
With that, Pierce Lavelle shuts the door behind him. Shipley looks on and then down at the floor.
Sake Meets The Law
FEATURING: JONNY SAKE, OFFICER
AUTHOR: JAMES JOHNSON
The camera is showing an Arial view of the St. Georges hospital, there is a man trying to get out of the building, police cars are surrounding the area, and Jonny has no way out. There are police holding guns bent down behind the doors of their white and black police cars, there is a man stood on the bonnet of a car with a megaphone screaming some Spanish crap at Jonny. Jonny foolishly tries to charge at the policemen, and as usual he gets caught. The policeman crabs Jonny’s hands and tries to cuff him.
Jonny Sake: Look you soon to be illegal immigrant, get your hands off of me!
Officer: You are under arrest!
Jonny Sake: Well I kinda gathered that when you put handcuffs on me, and all these police came around me.
Jonny tries to struggle his hands free, while another officer grabs onto Jonny’s sweaty and slightly torn Ben Sherman T-shirt.
Jonny Sake: Don’t touch what you cant afford you Spanish scumbag!
Officer: You are under arrest!
Jonny Sake: Wow! Do you want a chufty badge?
Officer: You Are under arrest!
Jonny Sake: Ok! I get it, I’m under bloody arrest, now say something different you idiot, are you a Spanish Kris Krimzon or something?
Officer: Kris Krimzon? He is good!
The Spanish officer nods aimlessly like he is agreeing with what Jonny is saying. Then out of the large van comes a giant, human cannon ball like man. He has got a large automatic gun strapped to his waist and he appears to be coming toward Jonny.
Jonny Sake: Hey fatty! Go wank over a big mac.
Large Officer: What did you say?
Jonny Sake: Oh crud, you speak English don’t you!
The large officer, carries on walking toward Jonny, he pulls a large baton off of the back of his belt, and starts threatening Jonny with it. As he gets closer the two officers that are holding him still back away and stare as the officer starts to approach, Jonny seems somewhat more subdued as he approaches.
Jonny Sake: Your not gonna hit me with that are you?
Large Officer: Maybe.
The large officer finally reaches Jonny and whacks him over the back of the head with his shiny silver and black baton, drags him by the ears over to the Police van, and chucks him into the back.
Hate vs The Illustrious Face-Eater
STIPULATION: WEAPONS MATCH
REFEREE: LARS LARSSON
AUTHOR: LARA CLARKE
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: I think we’re about to kick things off. Our next match is getting underway.
Miguel Rodriguez: I have a tingling sensation about this match!
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: Em, Miguel, that tingling sensation -
Miguel Rodriguez: Yes?
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: Em, never mind. Oh, look, James Brunt is now standing in the ring.
James Brunt: This match is scheduled for one-fall.
'North American Corpse Desecration' by Agoraphobic Nosebleed begins to blare out of the sound system, after a few flashy pyrotechnics, Hate emerges from behind the black curtain. The Spanish crowd are on their feet, a lot of boos echo over Hate’s theme music, but he is undeterred by the eruption and smirks before approaching the ring.
James Brunt: Making his way to the ring, from Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, weighing in at 225 pounds... HATE!
Hate slides into the ring, ignores the ring announcer and announcement and removes his long brown trench coat. He waits patiently for The Illustrious Face-Eater to arrive.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: Hate getting a ‘warm’ welcome from the Spaniards!
Miguel Rodriguez: They’re Europeans, hot tempered; we cheer those we like and boo those we don’t. It seems Hate needs to show some more love around the place. Oh, wait just one second; we have a few Hate followers behind us! HEY … give me back my headset!
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: And … back to James Brunt for the announcements!
‘Welcome Home’ by Coheed & Cambria hit’s the stereo system of the Raimundo Saporta arena, in Madrid. The Illustrious Face-Eater walks calmly down the ramp, getting a mixed reaction from the Spanish fans. The Illustrious Face-Eater stops and looks around and waits for the pyrotechnics to end.
James Brunt: And his opponent, from Utah... THE ILLUSTRIOUS FACE-EATER!
The Illustrious Face-Eater is now standing in the ring, face-to-face with Hate. Referee Lars Larsson pushes his way in between the two men.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: Looks like we’re about to kick things off. Miguel? … Em, I’ll be doing commentary alone for a few moments. POTATOES!
The bell rings and the match gets underway. Face-Eater ducks Hate’s attempt at a tie-up and clubs Hate in the back of the head, with a quick jumping drop kick. Hate stumbles forward a little, but is unharmed by Face-Eater’s first attempt at an upper hand approach. Hate suddenly charges full steam, his red mask glowing against the Spot lights. Hate collides with Face-Eater. Both men hit the mat after a double clothesline.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: Double Clothesline … both men are down!
Referee Lars Larsson watches as both men are quickly back on their feet. They begin a stare down. Both masked men approach one another, nose to nose. Suddenly Hate takes a cheap shot and rakes the eyes of Face-Eater. With a slight second to spare, Hate lunges and delivers a quick DDT. Face-Eater’s masked head hit’s the mat with a ‘thud’. Hate pins.
ONE!
TWO!
Face-Eater kicks out on the two count. Hate smirks to himself and using his hands, hoists his body up to a standing position. As Face-Eater begins to get up on all fours. Hate delivers a kick to the gut. Face-Eater bounces side ways and the fans BOO loudly at Hate. Hate laughs and kicks Face-Eater again in the gut. Face-Eater is gasping for air.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: Face-Eater has been winded! Ouch! Oh, Hi, Hans!
Hans Heinemann: Shut up you fool!
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: Where did Miguel go?
Hans Heinemann: Hate and Face-Eater are still battling it out in the ring.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: Em, HELLO!
Face-Eater is about to take a third kick when he grabs the foot of Hate and twists it. Hate hit’s the mat, completely unprepared for the suddenness of Face-Eaters response.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: The bigger they are, the harder the fall.
Hans Heinemann: Must you always spew the most ridiculous comments.
Face-Eater is up straight away and begins some of his own swift kicks. Hate rolls out of the ring and grips his stomach. He gazes up at Face-Eater, who is still trying to catch his breath. Hate laughs and points at Face-Eater. Face-Eater suddenly lunges himself over the top rope. Hate ducks, but he isn’t quick enough. Face-Eater connects with a springboard moonsault to the outside. Hate and Face-Eater lie out flat, outside the ring.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: Whoa! A springboard moonsault from Face-Eater. Both men are out flat. Hmmm … I wonder where Miguel went?
Hans Heinemann: Lars Larsson beginning the count.
Lars Larsson begins a count.
1
2
3
4
Face-Eater is up and slides into the ring, breaking the outside count. Hate slowly follows behind, but is met with a quick baseball slide. Both men take recovery time. The fans begin a boring chant, and Hate just shrugs them off.
Face-Eater and Hate soon tie-up in the ring. Hate drives Face-Eater backwards and breaks the hold, delivering a quick Irish Whip. Face-Eater flies off the ropes and straight into a big boot. Hate looks around and pins.
ONE!
TWO!
Face-Eater kicks out again. Hate stomps the mat with his hand shakes his head, he stares coldly at referee official, Lars Larsson.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: Kick-Out by The Illustrious Face-Eater. That just rolls off your tongue, Illustrious. Either that, or I drunk too many Guinness’s before coming out here. (Hiccups) This match has suddenly come back strong, this time Hate is on the attack.
Miguel Rodriguez: You’re lost without me!
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: Your back!
Hans Heinemann: Yes … he’s back!
Meanwhile, inside the ring, things have taken a slight turn. Face-Eater Irish Whips Hate into the ropes. Hate ducks a clothesline attempt. Face-Eater jumps Hate’s attempt at a spear. Hate comes back and Face-Eater grabs him into a belly-to-belly and chucks Hate across the ring. Face-Eater quickly lunges over toward Hate and pins him.
Miguel Rodriguez: Devastating Belly-to-Belly suplex from Face-Eater.
ONE!
TWO-!
Hate kicks-out just before the three count. Face-Eater doesn’t look surprised, instead he stands up and waits for Hate to regain his balance. Hate turns around and Face-Eater jumps into the air, connecting with a vicious Diamond Cutter, Hate’s face hit’s the mat with some force, a slight cracking sound is heard.
Miguel Rodriguez: Ouch! That didn’t sound good.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: That sounded sort of like the popping of a Guinness can! Alright! Who has the drink?
Hans Heinemann: What made them hire a drunk like you?
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: Hey! Germans drink beer too!
Hans Heinemann: Yes, but we don’t have dreams about it! And, we don’t drink Guinness.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: Mmmm … Guinness!
Miguel Rodriguez: You’re delusional again.
Face-Eater pins Hate for the second time, as he rolls Hate over, small droplets of blood roll down the cheek of Hate’s mask.
Miguel Rodriguez: Looks like Face-Eater might’ve broken Hate’s nose. But, we’ll never know, because he wears a mask!
Hans Heinemann: Hate should be respected, these fans don’t know anything!
Miguel Rodriguez: I …
Hans Heinemann: Be quiet, Miguel. They might steel your headset again!
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: The pin! Oh, Potatoes!
ONE!
TWO!
THR-!
Hate kicks-out again, but not as quickly as before. Face-Eater looks around and takes a seat on the second rope. Hate sits up slowly, shaking his head and rubbing his face. His eyes are all red and puffy. Face-Eater hasn’t moved, he’s still seated on the second rope laughing, as Hate stumbles around the ring.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: What is Face-Eater doing? Get a steppin’!
Miguel Rodriguez: That was a close call for Hate.
Hans Heinemann: Phew …
Suddenly out of nowhere, Hate lunges at Face-Eater and sends Face-Eater through the ropes to the floor below with a big boot. Hate stumbles backwards and leans on the ropes. Referee Lars Larsson begins a count.
Miguel Rodriguez: That came out of nowhere!
Hans Heinemann: Quite agile like too!
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: Oh, damit, I missed the vendor again!
1
2
3
4
Face-Eater is inside the ring on the fifth count. Lars Larsson checks on Face-Eater, but Face-Eater shoves him off. Hate laughs a little and charges once more at Face-Eater. Face-Eater ducks and grabs Hate by the back of the neck and hit’s a swinging Neckbreaker.
Hans Heinemann: Hmmm ….
Miguel Rodriguez: (whispering) Dave, is he supposed to be this biased?
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: (whispering) What Potatoes? I don’t see any potatoes.
Miguel Rodriguez: Oh, forget it!
Hans Heinemann: Forget what?
Miguel Rodriguez: Em, nothing, I was thinking out loud!
Face-Eater is up and stares at the commentators and shakes his head in disapproval of their commentary. Hate is stumbling, but manages to grip Face-Eater’s tights, and sits up. Lars Larsson waves his hands and both men lock-up. Face-Eater begins a lunge of adrenaline and drives Hate backwards, he walks away and smiles. Hate charges and gets a book to the gut. Face-Eater suddenly shoves Hate’s neck under his arm, grabs Hate’s wrist and launches him into the air. Hate crashes to the mat on his neck, Face-Eater has just delivered his finisher, the EASTERPLEX ‘05.
Hans Heinemann: What was that?
Miguel Rodriguez: That was Face-Eater’s finisher.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: This could be it.
ONE!
TWO!
THR-!
Hate manages to kick-out of the pin at the last moment and the fans sigh. Lars Larsson orders for a continuation, and Face-Eater leans back on his calves, a little disappointed.
Hans Heinemann: I believe Face-Eater thought he might of had the match one.
Miguel Rodriguez: It looked like he a had a strong move there. I must admit, I am surprised that Hate kicked-out.
Hate sits up and rubs the back of his neck. Face-Eater grabs Hate in a Boston crab, but Hate reverses, now standing and hoists Face-Eater into the air, landing in a sit-down Powerbomb. Face-Eater’s back ricochets off the mat.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: Ouch! That reminded me of a time when my pappy fell off the thatched roof and hit the coble stones.
Miguel Rodriguez: Did he survive?
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: Yes … my pappy was a well-built man, stuffed with potatoes and booze. The two elements of the Irish people!
Hans Heinemann: Das war Quatch!
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: Yeah … well … Dun do bhéal agus póg mo hon!
Miguel Rodriguez: Amigos amigos, negócios àparte. Hoje é dia não para mim.
Face-Eater is still out flat in the ring. Hate is tending to the small of his own back and his neck. Face-Eater begins to roll around, a little dazed. The fans are on their feet, amazed at the show that has been put on for them. Chants for “HATE” and “FACE-EATER” echo around the ring. Some boos follow, but they’re drowned out. Hate and Face-Eater tie-up once more, Hate delivers an Irish Whip, both men charge, and both men connect with a double clothesline.
Lars Larsson begins a count.
1
2
3
4
Hans Heinemann: Get up! Get up!
Miguel Rodriguez: I don’t think they can hear you -
5
6
7
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: Rise and Shine!
On the eight count both men begin to rise and Lars Larsson stops the count. Both men look at one another and then jump to their feet. Face-Eater takes control and plants a running knee into Hate’s sternum. Hate lunges forward a little, gasping for air.
Hate suddenly turns around, and with the referees back turned, plants a knee to Face-Eaters groin. Face-Eater rolls to the outside and checks to make sure everything is intact. The fans react badly to both men’s show, and their chants turn to boos. Hate laughs and runs, jumping off the ropes and catching Face-Eater with a flying forearm smash. Both men hit the mat, Face-Eater crashes against the steel steps. Hate rolls and with his back connects against the barricade. Face-Eater is hunched over the second step. Hate climbs up, and begins to stomp away at Face-Eater, picks him up and slides him into the ring.
Hans Heinemann: Things are heating up fast!
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: No, that’s just my hotdogs!
Hate and Face-Eater tie-up once more, Hate turns around and elbows Face-Eater in the noise.
Miguel Rodriguez: Ouch … the sinuses!
Face-Eater’s eye are blurred, Hate out of nowhere, suddenly gets a sudden burst of energy and connects with his Eleventh Commandment. Hate rolls Face-Eater over, moves him away from the ropes and pins.
Hans Heinemann: And the pin, bitte!
ONE!
TWO!
Miguel Rodriguez: Amigos … this could be it.
THREE!
The bell rings, and 'North American Corpse Desecration' by Agoraphobic Nosebleed hit’s the sound system. The fans erupt with an applause, followed by booing. Hate stands up and looks around at the Spanish fans. His arm is raised by Lars Larsson. Face-Eater has now rolled out of the ring, and leans motionless against the ring post in disbelief.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: Hate wins it! Now, where did I put the buns for this sausage!
James Brunt: Here is your winner, by pin fall, HATE.
Hate climbs down from the ring and walks up the ramp, and into the backstage area. Face-Eater soon follows to his own music and some boos.
FREDROCK~! Interruption
FEATURING: AMY SILVEIRA, HUGO SILVEIRA, FREDROCK~!
AUTHOR: DAVID "DJ" HEDLEY
The show cuts backstage and to a corridor, to the face of the attractive AWC interviewer Sarah Kennedy, most often seen in recent weeks involved in some capacity with Pierce Lavelle. She smiles faintly at the camera, with an AWC-branded microphone close to her naturally-coloured yet lipglossed pink lips. She lifts the microphone a little closer to her mouth after a moment or two, and begins to speak.
Sarah Kennedy: I'm here with Amy Silveira and her manager Hugo Silveira, prior to Amy's match later on tonight which will of course be for the Frontier title with Crimson O'Malec and Tim Shipley, to get her thoughts before the match begins.
The camera had been panning out whilst Sarah had been speaking, meaning that by now Amy and her taller father Hugo were in the picture. Amy looks in a way to try and not look straight into the camera, whilst Hugo grins at it, whilst listening carefully to the interviewer's words. The crowd cheers a little at the mention of the other people in the title match, and this can be heard in the interview, making it clear this is near to the ring entrance.
Sarah turns to face Amy, appearing confidently in front of the younger girl, the two having different appearances yet similiar, appealing facial and body features.
Sarah Kennedy: You obviously have the biggest match in your career tonight. How are you feeling prior to the match, and do you think that you can come out on top?
Amy thinks for a moment, smiling weakly as she does, although the more confident Hugo ends her thought by speaking for her.
Hugo Silveira: Amy is obviously very confident for her match tonight, and I expect that she will come out on top against two inferior competitors in Tim Shipley and Crimson O'Malec. I believe in my girl.
Hugo grins a little, and Amy looks up to him, knowing that he is lying about her confidence. Amy looks back to Sarah, who accepts his answer to the question, and as she addresses the next one Hugo nudges her a little.
Sarah Kennedy: You've had a quick rise to the upper-card scene in AWC. Do you think that you can carry on going and become a main event regular?
Amy Silveira: Well, I guess I could, but..
As Amy hesitates with a not-so-positive answer, Hugo interrupts her and powers over her with his more broad voice.
Hugo Silveira: I think Amy can go right to the top. I believe in her.
Sarah again accepts his answer, and moves on to the next question. Amy is clearly uncomfortable with the interview, but tries not to show it, to little success.
Sarah Kennedy: Your very close to home tonight, and the fans have taken to..
As Sarah delivers the question, a mop appears at the bottom right of the screen, near to the feet of Hugo Silveira. It begins to move around, distracting Hugo Silveira, who gets a little restless as it frantically scrubs away at his black shoes. He kicks it, removing it for a short time.
Sarah Kennedy: ..You so far in your stay here. Do you think this could help you to win the match tonight?
Amy Silveira: Well, having the fans support is great, and without them I don't think I could go out there and even try to win the match..
As Amy replies Hugo looks behind him, with the unmistakable FREDROCK~! appearing behind the three, cleaning the floor. Although Amy and Sarah ignore this, Hugo fails to, and makes his way over to FREDROCK~! as the two talk.
Amy Silveira: I just hope the fans are supporting me tonight, as I would find it hard to do anything out there if they were resenting me.
A noise occurs behind the two, distracting both, and as the camera focuses more on the action behind a struggle for MOP~! can be seen between FREDROCK~! and Hugo Silveira. FREDROCK~! begins to pull at the mop, desperately trying to keep hold of it, whilst Hugo attempts to take it off him. As Amy slowly moves forward to try and stop the problem, Hugo leaves go, sending FREDROCK~! flying across the picture and well out of the view of the camera. A second or so later a clatter can be heard, with a low-volumed noise presumably coming from the fallen FREDROCK~!
Hugo Silveira: Keep away from me and my daughter you tilde-abusing m..
Amy tries to get her dad to come back to where Sarah is still standing, looking back at the action behind. Amy eventually wins, and Hugo brushes himself down before making his way back over to the interviewer with his daughter.
Hugo Silveira: Sorry about that, he was being a nuisance.. where were we?
Sarah smiles faintly, as Amy tries to de-associate herself with her father as much as possible.
Sarah Kennedy: Actually, that was about all.. Good luck in the match tonight, and we'll see if your confidence pays off in the ring.
Sarah walks off, and Amy quickly turns to her father, glancing at the area where FREDROCK~! had disappeared to moments ago.
Amy Silveira: I can speak for myself, you know.
Hugo Silveira: I know, darling, but.. I'm your manager, and it's my job..
Hugo walks away in the opposite direction from where FREDROCK~! disappeared to, and Amy sighs a little, muttering under her breath.
Amy Silveira: Maybe I wish it wasn't your..
Amy follows him slowly, looking stressed again, as FREDROCK~! and MOP~! appear, mopping up the floor frantically again now that Hugo has disappeared.
Hardest Of Truths?
FEATURING: THE ILLUSTRIOUS FACE-EATER, PIERCE LAVELLE AND MADDY ESTELLE
AUTHORS: LARA CLARKE AND JOE SCHMIDT
We open inside the sunny, yet spacious, Raimundo Saporta, in Madrid, Spain. The backstage area is slightly quiet as people have stopped their work for the fifteen minute interval. The Illustrious Face-Eater is pacing up and down the corridors, dressed in his ring attire. He strides purposefully down passed the backstage crew, bursts open a double door and takes a seat on a small FRESH set. Maddy Estelle is seated on an opposite chair, sipping coffee and writing on a ream of paper.
Estelle looks up at Face-Eater, who is now seated in front of her in a slouched position. She adjusts her refill pad onto her crossed knees and places her cup of coffee onto the small glass table. Estelle nods her head to avoid the small talk and gets straight to work.
Maddy Estelle: Let’s be very clear about one thing; As a pre-req for the P.R. ball to get rolling on your personal marketing plan, we have to establish your personality more. In short: I’m stuck with interviewing you.
Face-Eater: I smell your fear, Mammal, but don’t you fret; I have been fully trained to act in accordance to your civilian laws! I will not devour the flesh that surrounds your stretched and worn orifices. Instead, I shall permit you to deliver to the masses the ultimate gospel in our new age!
Maddy Estelle: Er… what?
The Face-Eater looked at her as if she were stupid. He leaned in real close with an evil eye.
Face-Eater: What are you on?
Maddy Estelle: I don’t understand-
Face-Eater: WHAT ARE YOU ON?!
Maddy Estelle almost kicked herself for falling for the Face-Eater’s joke.
Face-Eater: I have made it very clear that I am here for a specific reason, and that is that I have no purpose! I only wish to entertain, and if people hear my message, good for them! If not, hey, you’ll die a horrible death at my fate but at least you’ll have your dignity! If a few people lose their self-will and a few families get destroyed in the process, eh, so be it.
Maddy Estelle: Is this a basic threat? Or are you just trying to get your name out there through rather ridiculous means?
Face-Eater: EXACTLY! It’s all in the fun of the sport. No harm, no foul. I wish to make it clear, that I am coming here with a clear head. I have NO adversaries, and would like to wish everyone a ‘good luck but when I see you in the ring you’re fucking dead!’
Maddy Estelle: What about the very 'vague-yet-specific' threat you left two weeks ago? A few Superstars seem to be suffering mildly of disguised attacks in the form of fire-ants and Sodium Hydroxide. If these are from you, how can you expect to be considered a viable threat?
Face-Eater: What the hell are you trying to ask me? Are you saying that I don't have what it takes to make an impact? Listen, you: First of all, I take my vague-yet-specific threats very seriously! If I say I'm going to slowly dismantle someone's psyche through ridiculous means, I'm gonna do it! No raping your dead grandmother here or kidnapping your illegitimate son there! No, this is good ole' fashioned 'mind-fuckin', and when I start coming for you full on, your bitch ass is going to know it!
Maddy Estelle was hardly frightened by the small frame of the superstar, but she did notice someone else sneaking up on the Face-Eater from behind.
Face-Eater: And secondly, what are you accusing me of? Do I need to do a voodoo Cochran over here to sue your pants off for violating my fourteenth amendment rights?
A loud cough is heard from behind the Face-Eater’s speech. Maddy Estelle looks up at the man, hidden behind the view of the camera, she smiles slightly. Face-Eater looks directly at Maddy Estelle and then slowly turns around in his chair. He is greeted by non-other than the Transatlantic Champion, Pierce Lavelle. The fans are in shock, they begin a “LAVELLE” chant.
Pierce Lavelle smirks at Face-Eater, moves around the camera and stands in front of Face-Eater. Maddy Estelle is now standing and moves slightly to the left of the two men. Face-Eater is now standing too, but he is dressed in ring attire, where as Pierce Lavelle is wearing some casual combat ¾ length shorts and a black wife beater. Pierce removes his sunglasses and continues smiling.
Pierce Lavelle: I guess I don’t need to introduce myself!
Face-Eater: Yawn. You already made me snore, so you must be Pierce Lavelle.
Pierce Lavelle sits down in a seat and continues to stare at Face-Eater. Maddy Estelle has now begun to write on her A4 pad again, whilest keeping an eye on the two men in front of her.
Pierce Lavelle: Take it easy, Face-Eater, I just wanted to shed some light on a recent discovery. For some time now, I have been paying close attention to the strange happenings that have invaded the life on my tag-partner and now, unfortunately, I am involved. I have been pondering a few things for the last couple of weeks. Then I saw a rerun clip of your little conversation, in which you stated to the adoring fans, that one man, would be covered in fire-ants. Strangely enough, after you said it, my tag-partner was covered in Fire-Ants and a sticky substance. Then you also mentioned that you would go after a friend … then last week, a bottle of make-up was switched, in which I was the victim.
Face-Eater now sits down, looking intrigue by the champions little discovery.
Pierce Lavelle: Strange thing is, I would’ve never guessed that it would lead back to you. I always assumed that is was someone else, somebody that had motive to go after Shipley, but what I am really confused at is, why would you want to go after Shipley and I?
Face-Eater leans back. Through his mask, you could see the look of shock plastered across his own face. A dropped jaw, wide eyes, loss of breath; perfect expression for being “taken aback.”
Face-Eater: Oh, no way, you had BETTER not be accusing me of getting involved in your little kayfabe drama. Are you saying that because I’m a masked stranger with no agenda aside from a VAGUE threat I made two weeks ago, and you and your pitcher got what sounds to me like a few pranks being played, you get the right to interrupt me in my interview with these crazy accusations-
Pierce Lavelle: I am not accusing you of anything. I am stating the pure fact that you are the culprit behind all of this. Am I right?
Face-Eater looks around; Maddy Estelle has now stopped writing, her mind fully focused on Pierce Lavelle and The Illustrious Face-Eater. Once again, Face-Eater’s mouth was agape.
Face-Eater: THAT IS A FUCKING ACCUSATION YOU FOOL!
In screaming, the Face-Eater spits something at Pierce, so he puts his sunglasses back on and begins to stand up.
Pierce Lavelle: You‘re impossible to talk to, and a waste of my time.
Face-Eater: YOU are the one who is boring the masses with your paranoia and conspiracy theories, friend!
Pierce Lavelle: I am merely acting with logic, something you fail to achieve at necessary times. All signs, as ridiculous as they may be, point to you. You wear this mask to hide who you are, because you know Tim will -
Face-Eater: You interrupted me in my interview, make crazy accusations, and now attack my heritage and my destiny because you can‘t handle your reefer. I want you to understand that I am greatly offended by this, and I feel NO NEED to answer your silly questions, that‘s how idiotic they are. When I attack someone, Pierce, I hit them head-on.
Pierce Lavelle smiles to himself. Pierce nods his head, not at the brashness of Face-Eater, but how he continued to deny what Pierce thought was the obvious. How he continued to deny logic was insanely stupid.
Pierce Lavelle: At least you‘re saying it face-to-face this time! Listen, you know that I hold this championship for a reason, and whatever grudge you hold on to has gotten out of hand. End it quick, or I will.
Face-Eater scrunches his nose and steps back.
Pierce Lavelle: And don’t think I’ll forget about the sodium hydroxide anytime soon, but, at this moment in time I have some matters that need to be taken care of.
Face-Eater: Lay off the pipe, Lavelle, you‘re talking crazy!
Pierce begins to the head to the door, while Maddy begins to shrug off the intensity.
Pierce Lavelle: We‘ll see, Face-Eater, who‘s crazy by the finish!
The Face-Eater and Maddy watch Pierce walk off-set, while Face-Eater stares on with menacing eyes.
Face-Eater: Yes, we will. And I think you‘ll be surprised when you find out who...
Ellis Nash vs Steven Xandrous
STIPULATION: SINGLES
REFEREE: JOSEPH REID
AUTHOR: MISS KITTY
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: Coming up next, folks, it's what some of us have been waiting for all evening…
Miguel Rodriguez: ELLIS IS HOTT~!
Hans Heinemann: Shut up you two, let's get down to business – these two both have considerable stripes added to their AWC uniforms…Xandrous is, as we know, the Relentless Champion and Ellis is a former Fresh!man; both already in the ring for their singles match.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: Aye!
He takes a swig from his Guinness.
Miguel Rodriguez: I don't really care too much who wins, so long as I get to…comfort…Ellis afterwards…
Hans Heinemann: …Jesus, why did I get saddled with these bad, bad men?
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: One word, Heinemann – RATINGS~!
Nash and Xandrous circle, centre ring, as the referee calls for the bell to get this contest underway. Nash makes a grab for Xandrous's near leg, but he evades her and sinks in a front facelock, bearing his weight downwards and forcing her to the mat. He then proceeds to ride her, amateur wrestling style, laughing all the time.
Miguel Rodriguez: Now this, this is what I like to see boys!
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: Look at her! I think she's gonnae blow a gasket out her arse!
Miguel Rodriguez: If only my brother Fernando were here to see this!
Ellis gets bored of Steven's antics and stands up, taking him with her and slamming him to the mat with a Samoan drop. She starts to lay the boots in as the Relentless Champ tries to cover up and rolls out of the ring. Nash doesn't allow him a moment to breathe, grabbing the ropes and landing on top of him with a perfectly executed slingshot cross body block.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: He went down like a sack o' potatoes!
Miguel Rodriguez: No doubt, my Irish friend.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: (swigging more Guinness) Who said I was ye friend, bucko?
Ellis stays on her opponent, dragging him to his feet and ramming him headfirst into the steel ringpost.
Miguel Rodriguez: MADRE DE DIOS! She's trying to crack his head like a cantaloupe!
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: Mmm…melons.
Miguel Rodriguez: I'm sure Ellis has some nice melons…
Hans Heinemann: Miguel, you haven't a chance in hell with her.
Miguel Rodriguez: SEZ YOU!
Ellis now picks Xandrous up again and tries to whip him into the steps. Xandrous reverses and sends her into them, shoulder first. He follows up with a running dropkick that sandwiches Ellis between his boots and the steel.
Miguel Rodriguez: NO! MY POOR HEART'S FACE!
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: Looks like my mate Paddy after the bobbies had finished with him…
Miguel Rodriguez whimpers.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: Ahh, no worry man, she'll be fine.
Confident that he's now firmly in control of his opponent, Xandrous takes time to salute and appeal to the crowd, who respond with a mixed reaction. He eventually turns his attention back to Nash, picking her up and rolling her into the ring. He makes a lax cover – ONE!
TWO!
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: NOOOOOOOOOOO Ellis gets the shoulder up.
Xandrous checks the count with the ref before pulling Nash to her feet and laying a solid haymaker between her eyes. He goes for a second but Ellis blocks it and tries for a roundhouse kick! Xandrous grabs her foot and ducks the attempted enziguri! Nash uses the momentum to take him down into a leg scissor pin.
ONE!
TWO!
Xandrous rolls off the shoulder and rolls out of the way as Ellis tries to drop a quick leg across his throat, hitting nothing but canvas. Xandrous rebounds off the ropes, looking for a low-angle dropkick into the sitting Nash but she has him scouted and takes him to the mat with a spinning heel kick!
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: Me ma used that on me once.
Hans Heinemann: You have no idea how much that explains.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: Ahh, see! I knew ye had a sense of humour in there somewhere!
Miguel Rodriguez: Can I look again yet? Is Ellis okay?
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: Aye, man, nothin' a pint of the black won't cure!
Miguel Rodriguez: *sighs* My poor darling…
Hans Heinemann: …dude, you're obsessed.
Miguel Rodriguez: You say this like it's a bad thing! I'm just taking an active interest in the AWC roster, like YOU'RE PAID TO DO, Heinemann!
Meanwhile back in the ring Ellis has taken control of the Relentless Champion, slamming him to the mat with an elevated fireman's carry. She makes her way to the top rope.
Hans Heinemann: Uncharacteristic risk-taking here from Ellis.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: Ahh, Dutch courage, I love it!
Nash takes her time getting to the top, still dizzy from the skull crushing she received earlier, which allows Xandrous time to recover! He runs up the turnbuckles and takes Ellis to the mat with a DDT off the top! He sinks in a half-nelson and rolls her over for the pin.
ONE!
TWO!
Hans Heinemann: Yet another near fall.
Nash gets the shoulder up and Xandrous can't believe it! He goes straight back on the offence, slapping on a tight dragon sleeper.
Hans Heinemann: Ah! Some nice technical offence.
As Ellis begins to fade, he scissors her body and wrenches back even further on the move, cutting off the oxygen supply to her brain. The referee grabs Nash's arm, lifts it and lets it drop ONCE…TWICE…THR-NO!
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: Nash is alive!
The arm stays in the air! She lays a series of elbows into Xandrous's ribs and he breaks the body scissors. Nash manages to get to her feet, but Steven still has the dragon sleeper sunk in deep! She manages to turn over and plants her opponent with a beautiful release northern lights suplex, dumping him on top of his head!
Miguel Rodriguez: I see the northern lights.
She makes the cover.
ONE!
TWO!
Hans Heinemann: Xandrous pushes her off.
Both now nip up. Ellis swings the clothesline but Xandrous ducks, trying for a belly-to-back suplex! Nash counters in midair into a cross body, but Steven rolls with the impact and puts her on her shoulders!
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: He grabs the tights!
ONE!
TWO!
Ellis kicks out with authority before planting him with a vicious roundhouse in the temple and trying for a cover of her own!
ONE!
TWO!
Xandrous kicks out! Both get to their feet, Xandrous charges and gets taken down with a drop toehold! Ellis follows up by slapping on a hamstring submission!
Hans Heinemann: What a great match so far! Great tactical offence on both sides!
Xandrous howls in agony as Nash wrenches back, adding more torque to his tortured thigh muscle. Nash tilts the pressure so Steven's on his shoulders.
Miguel Rodriguez: He down flat!
ONE!
TWO!
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: No, he manages to roll off.
He tries to use the momentum to roll out of the move but Nash rolls with him, keeping tight hold all the time. Desperately, Xandrous makes a dash for the ropes. He draaaaags Nash slowly…slowly…in response, Nash tightens the hold even further.
Miguel Rodriguez: Yes! That's it! Snap his ugly hamstring!
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: Hey, if you want I can get you her number…
Miguel Rodriguez: I didn't know leprechauns granted wishes!
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: …okay I take it back, I can't.
DOOOOOBLIN~! downs his Guinness and addresses the timekeeper.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: BARKEEP! Another, please!
Steven struggles and struggles... and eventually finds the ropes. The referee calls for the break and gets it at four. Nash springs to her feet and gets in the ref's face as Xandrous uses the ropes to pull himself up. Gingerly, he tests the weight on his hamstring. We can tell it's bothering him. Nash turns around and tries to clothesline him over the top but gets low bridged and takes the lonely trip to ringside, landing on the concrete with a dull thud.
Miguel Rodriguez: Dio mia, I cannot watch!
Hans Heinemann: Xandrous has bought himself some time here, let's see if he can capitalise!
Slowly, Xandrous returns to his feet, more confidently this time than before. He makes to get out of the ring but Ellis trips him, laying him out on the mat. She climbs to the top and drops a leg across his face! She makes the cover but the referee refuses to count as Xandrous is still half-under the ropes.
Miguel Rodriguez: Super!
Nash angrily drags the Relentless champion to his feet and pushes him at the turnbuckle. Her lack of relative strength shows, though, as Xandrous grabs her by both arms and forces her upper body downwards. Suddenly, he turns her around in a backslide!
ONE!
TWO!
THREE!
Hans Heinemann: Xandrous with a backslide takes it!
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: W - what happened? I missed it!
Miguel Rodriguez: Speed of LIGHTNING!
F**k The Nay-Sayers, They Don't Mean A Thing
FEATURING: THE ILLUSTRIOUS FACE-EATER
AUTHOR: JOE SCHMIDT
A clean and vigorous series of single-strokes on a guitar was the first bar to come in a song that really showered the spectators with anticipation. Whether the fans want to admit it or not, the music made this man’s entrance seem all the more intense regardless of the stupid things he said. The guitar sound amplified, distorted, and doubled. Drums, bass and orchestral string instruments followed.
“Welcome Home” by Coheed & Cambria.
Miguel Rodriguez: That damn Face-Eater; I can tell he’s up to something.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~! (writer’s side note: I can’t believe I actually wrote that): If the man’s got something to say he can say it!
Hans Heinemann: I’m mysteriously German! Fear me!
You could have been all I wanted
But you weren’t honest
Now get in the ground
You choked off your short list of favors
But if you really loved me
You would have endured my will
Well if you’re just as I presumed
A whore in sheep’s clothing
Fucking up all I do
The end, if so here we stop
Then never again will you see this in your life
The relatively small silhouette of the Illustrious Face-Eater has since appeared on the cat-walk, he now walks towards the ring and points at James Brunt in a very rude fashion. The ring announcer could only curse to himself, citing times like these that make him not like his profession.
Face-Eater climbs in the ring, while James holds the mic out for the “luchador” to take. The Face-Eater does so rather rudely, leaving Brunt to jump out of the ring quickly and wanting nothing to do with the new superstar.
Face-Eater: Why! WHY DO YOU INSIST ON HURTING MY FEELINGS? Am I too intense for you, Jammogram!? Is the gospel burning your ears because your loins are impure?
Brunt flips the Face-Eater off, who frowns in displeasure under the coating of his black vinyl mask.
Face-Eater: Well then I snub you, sir! Stop showing me your IQ and start showing me your disgusting backside as you do the right thing in walking away from me. Bitches know that I’m scandalous, and I will strike back!
Miguel Rodriguez: Well, he’s rambling again. I just hope he has a direction somewhere in his incoherent speech.
Face-Eater: You think I won’t? Are you all like Pierce Lavelle and think that I, harmless little Illustrious Face-Eater, attacks only through conspired events?! I shall prove you all wrong!
The fans all begin to boo the Face-Eater as he raissd his finger in emphasis of his point. The noise makes him take a breath to find time to talk again.
Miguel Rodriguez: Does this mean that he’s admitting to the attacks on the Academy?
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: I think it means this is the part where I say something weird! SPORKNESS!
Hans Heinneman: Watch me be German some more, please.
Face-Eater: Now is the time that our Transatlantic Champion pays the price of being a name-dropper. It’s one thing to talk about me behind my back, because we all know jealousy dwells. But when you attack my character in my own prolific interview, I DECIDE YOU SHOULDN’T BREATHE!
This made a few fans livid; angry in this crappy newcomer calling out the champion, but the Face-Eater was not one for considering others’ feelings.
Face-Eater: I’m SOOOO mad, I could open an abortion clinic! You’re going to fuck with me: the ILLUSTRIOUS Face-Eater? Hah, not without losing your baby-teeth. I don’t even know what my adjective means, but I will tell you that I’m changing the definition. From now on, ‘Illustrious’ means ‘the guy who stomped Pierce Lavelle’s ass in a non-title match’.
A minor disruption in the agony as the fans cheer the prospect of Pierce Lavelle facing the Illustrious Face-Eater.
Face-Eater: Yes, that’s right, I CHALLENGE you! Non-Title, just so I can show you how pathetic it feels to know your precious prize can be taken by a dashing young stallion like myself. NEXT WEEK, Pierce Lavelle; it’s YOU versus ME!
Miguel Rodriguez: Whoa! He’s calling out the champ!
Hans Heinemann: German Speak!
Face-Eater: Let’s see who’s being direct now?
And with that, “Welcome Home” picked up where it left off, and left the Illustrious Face-Eater to leave the ring.
Streets Of London
FEATURING: DAVID "PEARL" HARBER
AUTHOR: PIERRE HYDE
Not for the first time tonight, “Bohemian Like You” is the song that now bursts from the speakers and energises this crowd, that refuses to wane, in Madrid.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: “Pearl Harbor sucked... and I miss you...”
Miguel Rodriguez: I love that Team America movie!
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: Yeah, I suppose you enjoyed Team America, since all the puppets were about your height.
David “Pearl” Harber, the Entertainment Manager of AWC, comes down the ramp with a smile on his face and a mic in his hand, waving to the cheering fans.
“HAR-BER! HAR-BER!”
clap, clap, clap clap clap, clap clap clap clap – “HARBER!”
“PEARL! PEARL! PEARL! PEARL!”
Hans Heinemann: Pearl’s popularity is unparalleled.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: No reason to sound so bitter about it. Turn that frown... upside down!
Miguel Rodriguez: Is not David Harber seemply Jerry Springer on crack?
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: No...
Harber enters the ring and silence falls.
Pearl: The Battle Of Britain...
Immediately, the crowd pops once more, happy to hear more about the next big event from AWC.
Pearl: In just seventeen days time you’ll see an event of unmatched spectacle. Yes, I can promise you now – The Battle Of Britain will be bigger and better than Solarized!
Cheers ring out around Raimundo Saporta.
Pearl: But all week here in Spain, I’ve been deluged with questions on exactly how. What is “Pearl” Harber going to pull out of that to make this show special? You fans here in Madrid –
Harber smiles as he is cheered once more.
Pearl: – are the lucky ones: you’re going to find out first. I will now be unveiling the main event for The Battle Of Britain!
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: Whoooo! What’s it gonna be?
Hans Heinemann: (sarcastically) Let me guess... Lavelle and Strider round four?
Pearl: I had to make an unfortunate promise to The Educator earlier in the night...
Mutinous mutterings begin to surface even as that name is mentioned.
Miguel Rodriguez: What?
Hans Heinemann: Ah! At last, a competitor worthy of the main event status will get it!
Pearl: So yes, the main event will indeed be a Transatlantic title match involving the champion Pierce Lavelle, and The Educator cashing in his guaranteed title shot...
Boos drown out Pearl’s words, but he raises a hand.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: He’s got something up his arm.
Pearl: It will also feature Crimson O’Malec!
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: EIRE OG! EIRE OG!
The arena is transformed. Cheering possesses the fans crammed into Raimundo Saporta for a good five seconds – but Pearl is not done.
Pearl: Alex Strider’s fitness is currently in question – but if fit, he will also take part.
Hans Heinemann: So that’s a four way match – Lavelle, Educator, O’Malec and Strider –
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: THERE’S MORE!
Pearl: Wait, wait!
The boos cease, for the most part, as the fans anticipate perhaps the addition of a fifth competitor to this main event match.
Pearl: Paddy O’Shea is in rather a situation, as he told us earlier this evening. He wants to face his nemesis, Hate – and I fully understand that, for Hate’s sick actions have revolted the majority of us. However – and again, I totally understand this – he’s worried that a singles match might not work out quite how he wants. And did you see Hate sling the 300-pound Kuff McSlade effortlessly into the ring a few weeks back? I sympathise, I really do. So what better solution... than to inject both O’Shea and Hate into the main event at The Battle Of Britain!
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: No way! EIRE OG! EIRE OG!
Miguel Rodriguez: Seis! Seises!
Hans Heinemann: Sechs!
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: Sex!
Hans Heinemann: Six men will contest the Transatlantic title at The Battle Of Britain!
Harber, once more, holds up his right hand, and the crowd settles down.
Pearl: Hold it. You’re all very excited – don’t you realise I haven’t given you a stipulation yet?
Hans Heinemann: A basic elimination match – got to be.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: Elimination chamber, yes!
Miguel Rodriguez: A cage match!
Murmurs rise and fall among the crowd as Pearl grins.
Pearl: I can guarantee that not one person here tonight – nor watching at home anywhere in the world – has guessed the stipulation I’m about to reveal. Because while The Battle Of Britain will be coming live from Earl’s Court in London, the main event won’t take place in the arena at all!
Hans Heinemann: What?! Scandalous!
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: This is a match worthy of POTATOES!
Pearl: London is a great city.
Some fans cheer this.
Pearl: No, come on, there’s no question about it. From Big Ben, to the Tower of London, to the Millennium Bridge and the London Eye, and the theatres of the West End, and Camden Town and Leicester Square and Soho...
Hans Heinemann: Bah! Munich!
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: Hans, London pwns Munich.
Pearl: So I decided it’d be a shame to waste the opportunities that holding an event in London presents. We won’t be doing an AWC sightseeing tour prior to the show – we’ll be doing it during the main event. Ladies and gentlemen, Pierce Lavelle, The Educator, Crimson O’Malec, Paddy O’Shea, Hate and Alex Strider if he’s fit will board an authentic red London double-decker bus for the world’s FIRST EVER Streets Of London match!
The pop for this is tremendous. The ”PEARL! PEARL! PEARL!” chants start up again.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: Sightseeing and wrestling? POTATO FRENZY!
Miguel Rodriguez: EJACULATION STATION!
Pearl: (grinning) The bus is simply going to be driven around London, so we can all take in the sights as we watch those six men duke it out aboard the bus. The last man left aboard will be crowned AWC Transatlantic champion!
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: EIRE OG! EIRE OG!
Hans Heinemann: This is far too simple! Simple and stupid! Where is the wrestling?!
Chords, drums, wa-hoo-hoo, and off he goes to the loudest cheers anyone has received all night. Some, like Hans Heinemann, are not convinced. But others –
Miguel Rodriguez: I tink I need some new panties.
Crimson O'Malec vs Tim Shipley vs Amy Silveira
STIPULATION: THREE WAY FURY - AWC FRONTIER CHAMPIONSHIP
REFEREE: MICHAEL RYAN
AUTHOR: DAVE LARKIN
Hans Heinemann: It’s that time again, I guess. Main event time, and this time we’re looking at high stakes.
Miguel Rodriguez: That’s right, Hans. The AWC Frontier championship is up for grabs in this contest, and my beeeg boy is on overdrive!
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: Funny you say that; mine is too.
Hans Heinemann: Sick! How can you… why do you… AGH!
Miguel Rodriguez: Problem, Hans?
Hans Heinemann: Nah, nah. I’m… fine.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: POTATOES! My money’s on Amy Silveira tonight. She’s just been so impressive over the last couple of weeks since her debut. What better way to really mark her territory here in AWC than to win the Frontier championship?
Miguel Rodriguez: You could say she’d reach a new frontier if she won the gold!
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~! falls off his chair, laughing hysterically at the not-so-funny joke from his colleague.
Hans Heinemann: Oh, would you two get a grip? Let’s analyse the ins and outs of this match, shall we? Before I have a heart attack trying to control you half-wits.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: Half-wits? I’d say we’re more three-quarter-wits. Don’t you think so, Miguel?
Miguel Rodriguez: Whatever, I’m checking out that hot midget in the front row. Come on over here, sweetheart! Miguel’s got a beeeg present for you!
Hans Heinemann: Let’s go down to ringside, where James Brunt - the man I had to fill in for last week - is standing. Hopefully he feels better after his diarrhoea.
Miguel Rodriguez: I heard it was just a little stomach ache he had.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: Either way, the guy’s a wuss. We Irish go down for nothing!
James Brunt, who has now recovered from his ailment, stands proudly in the ring. The Spanish fans give Brunt a positive reaction, despite the fact Brunt sports a jacket with the Union Jack on it. Brunt clears his throat and prepares to speak.
James Brunt: The following contest is a three way fury match for the AWC Frontier championship!
Hans Heinemann: Excited, Miguel? Dave?
Miguel Rodriguez: Pumped and ready to spurt all over you!
Heinemann almost convulses upon hearing this comment, but somehow keeps his cool.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: Sure, I’m ready. Feeling a little parched, though. You got a Guinness handy, Hans?
Hans Heinemann: I’m not even going to respond to that.
All the arena lighting goes out. The big screen flashes into life, with a piece of rapid video taking a first-person trip through a conceptual maze of light in space. The text 'Astral Conversations With Toulouse Lautrec' buzzes repeatedly across the screen, as the song of the same name by Northern Irish rock group Ash starts up with a re-recorded robotic voice-over announcing: "Please welcome: Tim Shipley. Error. Does not compute. Does not compute..." The basic two-chord opening begins, with Tim Wheeler's melodic "Uh. Uh uh" leading the song into the slightly heavier section as the guitar joins in.
James Brunt: Making his way to the ring, from Milton Keynes, England, weighing in at 201 pounds... "Summer's Son" TIM SHIPLEY!
White spotlights dance around the arena, and now two blue spotlights, emitting light from the ringposts, slowly rotate down from the arena roof to focus on the stage, where Tim Shipley is now standing, scrunching his hands together, looking apprehensively out at the fans, who give the newcomer a sizeable pop following his recent actions. The white lights dance more and more frantically before simultaneously all coming to a stop to also focus on the stage and Tim Shipley, just as another piece of robot-squawk ends to be replaced by the more simple "Uh. Uh uh" and the video feed changes to a shot of a conceptual spaceship racing through a tunnel. Shipley, finally taking his cue, comes slowly down to the ring, looking around in wonder at the fans.
Miguel Rodriguez: I’ve always wondered what the deal is with his nickname. I mean, Summer’s Son? It sounds like some sort of lollypop or something.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: I like it, personally.
Hans Heinemann: I dislike it. I think it reeks of Shipley-esque idiocy.
Carl Orff’s “O Fortuna” techno remix begins to play around the Raimundo Saporta arena and one half of the AWC Alliance champions, Crimson O’Malec, appears from behind the curtain to a standing ovation from the appreciative Spanish fans. O’Malec equally appreciates the support from the fans, and bows to them as he heads down the ramp way. However, the former Relentless champion takes on a more composed and business-like approach as he enters the ring. O’Malec, ever the professional, shakes Shipley’s hand and nods to one of his opponents.
James Brunt: In the ring, from Daytona Beach, Florida, weighing in at 175 pounds… “THE POET” CRIMSON O’MALEC!
Miguel Rodriguez: An overwhelmingly positive reaction for O’Malec here tonight. With what he’s done for AWC, he deserves it, don’t you think so?
Hans Heinemann: Unfortunately, and I stress that word, O’Malec could become the first man in AWC history to hold three championships tonight. He’s already had the Relentless championship; he’s a reigning Alliance champion; tonight he might win the Frontier championship.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: The Frontier championship that Michael Ryan is currently holding in the ring. Some say Ryan has slept with that title for the past couple of months, knowing that one day he would present it to an AWC superstar. It’s like his child, in a way.
Hans Heinemann: Mmm. Ryan’s a lonely, lonely man.
An AWC edited version of the Prodigy's "Girls" begins playing over the loud speakers, with the Spanish crowd reacting in a loud and positive way for the theme of Amy Silveira.
Imagine how it would be
To be at the top, making cash money
And tour all around the world
Tell stories about all the young..
The heavy beat of the theme kicks in, and the arena effects begin to produce flashing lights in various colours, lighting up the entrance way in shades of blue, green, orange and red in fast bursts. Upon the beat kicking in, the proud-looking Portuguese manager Hugo Silveira appears to the entrance, with his confidence clear. Alongside him is daughter, Amy, and the two make their way to the ring. Hugo soaks up the cheers on the way, whilst Amy looks nervous and inconfident for the match ahead, much like she has in recent weeks.
James Brunt: Making her way to the ring, weighing in at 116 pounds and accompanied by her father Hugo, AMY SILVEIRA!
Amy reaches the ring, stepping in through the middle ropes, and leaning against the turnbuckle, as the cheers die down a little during the wait for the next entrance theme to kick in.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: I love Amy Silveira. She makes my life worthwhile.
Hans Heinemann: Somebody get this guy a quack!
Miguel Rodriguez: The obsession continues. We’re about to get started with this one, it seems.
Shipley, O’Malec and Silveira all take separate corners of the ring, preparing to begin this hugely important match. The bell rings and Michael Ryan holds the Frontier championship up for all to see. From the outset, Silveira throws caution to the wind and dives on O’Malec with a Lou Thesz press. Shipley, slightly taken aback by Silveira’s quick attack, stands back and waits for his opportunity. Silveira drills O’Malec with some rights, but O’Malec quickly muscles Silveira out of the ring through the ropes.
Hans Heinemann: Oooh! Silveira landed hard on those protective mats.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: I have to go save her before she hurts herself! Imagine the carnage if - if -
Miguel Rodriguez: If what? Silveira gets her head knocked off or her leg broken? Geez, man, stop the obsession! You should be obsessed with my beeeg boy!
Hans Heinemann: Why do you guys even exist?
Shipley, seeing his window of opportunity, picks O’Malec up to his feet and the pair tie up. Shipley puts O’Malec in a side headlock, then whips the former Relentless champion off the ropes. On the rebound, Shipley takes O’Malec down with a drop toe hold. Shipley attempts to lock on the single leg boston crab, but O’Malec doesn’t allow it, muscling Shipley off of him. O’Malec gets back to his feet, but Silveira is poised on the top rope behind him.
Miguel Rodriguez: Amy Silveira is behind you, Crimson! Oh, can’t you hear me?!
Hans Heinemann: Nope, not a chance of that!
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: Watch her fly!
Silveira dives off the top rope and takes O’Malec down face first with a bulldog. O’Malec holds his face in pain as Silveira turns her attention to young Shipley. Shipley has the advantage straight away, however, taking Silveira off-guard with a clothesline. Shipley turns Silveira onto her back and this time successfully locks on the single leg boston crab, just on a different opponent. The weakened O’Malec manages to intervene quickly, though, and Shipley has to break the hold.
Miguel Rodriguez: If O’Malec hadn’t interfered there, it might have been curtains for Silveira’s chance, not to mention his chance, at the Frontier championship.
Hans Heinemann: The only redeeming quality Shipley has is his technical ability. That’s it. That’s the only reason I watch this guy.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: (putting on a posh British accent) Oh yes, I completely agree with you, sir. VIS-À-VIS~! CONCORTEDLY~! POTATOES~!
O’Malec whips Shipley off the ropes and clotheslines him over the top rope and out of the ring to a decent pop from the crowd. Silveira is all O’Malec’s now, and he lifts her up to a vertical base. O’Malec delivers the snapmare to the mat below and follows it up with a dropkick to the back of the starlet’s head. O’Malec makes the first cover of the match-up:
ONE!
TWO!
Silveira easily gets the shoulder up, however, and O’Malec looks none too happy. O’Malec takes Silveira by the arm and whips her into the corner. Silveira reverses the whip, though, sending O’Malec to the corner. Silveira charges at O’Malec, but Shipley has it all worked out. From the outside, the college student pulls O’Malec by the legs, making him collapse to the canvas. Shipley does this at the same moment Silveira makes her run, and Silveira hits her head hard into the turnbuckle. Shipley re-enters the ring to applause from the Spanish fans who highly appreciated that show of intelligence from Shipley.
Miguel Rodriguez: That was unique! I’ve never seen that done before, in fact.
Hans Heinemann: That’s what I’ve been telling you about, Miguel. Shipley’s a smart kid.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: You never say that, Hans. Just a few minutes ago, you were criticising the guy.
Hans Heinemann: Well, the thing about that is…
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: Don’t even try it, Hansy boy!
Shipley goes for O’Malec, who finds himself stuck around the ring pole, and drags him back into the middle of the ring. Shipley delivers a couple of fist drops to O’Malec, then lifts him up and nails three successive snap suplexes. Shipley covers O’Malec, but before the referee even makes the first count, Silveira interrupts. Silveira measures Shipley with what she calls “The Thunder Kick”, a martial arts type move. The shin to the face from Silveira to Shipley sends Shipley down to the mat in a heap.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: I love martial arts, you know. It’s my favourite hobby.
Miguel Rodriguez: I thought drinking was your favourite hobby. Oh, that and being an idiot.
Hans Heinemann: He’s a jack of all trades, apparently.
Silveira, the only competitor standing at the moment, savours the nice pop from the fans. Then, hoping to keep up her momentum, takes O’Malec up and places him in the corner. Silveira nails a series of knife-edge chops, reddening O’Malec’s chest. Silveira backs up a little, then delivers her White Lightning, a spinning heel kick, right to O’Malec’s head. O’Malec, woozy after the impact, falls to the mat.
Hans Heinemann: Silveira’s getting a little cocky now. Watch out for Shipley!
Miguel Rodriguez: She’s young, what do you expect?
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: Turn around, my princess!
Silveira turns and Shipley is waiting for her. Shipley delivers a perfect belly-to-back suplex to Silveira, turning it into a pin attempt.
ONE!
TWO!
Silveira just powers out before the three count. O’Malec is now beginning to stir after that unforgiving kick to the head. Shipley, slightly frustrated that he couldn’t put Silveira away, whips her off the ropes. Shipley takes Silveira down with a drop toehold, then applies a hammerlock to Silveira as she lies face first on the canvas.
Hans Heinemann: Shipley’s just doing that as an excuse to get on top of her. He hasn’t had a woman in months.
Miguel Rodriguez: I haven’t had a woman in a few hours. Damn… it’s been too long. My beeeg boy needs some action!
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: In Spain, they give out free sex in -
Hans Heinemann: Stop talking now, you imbecile!
O’Malec, now revived after the vicious kick, pulls Shipley off Silveira and takes him down with a full nelson slam. Shipley lies prone on the mat, and O’Malec sees his opportunity to swing the match his way. O’Malec heads to the top rope, looking to nail a frogsplash on Shipley. O’Malec dives off and lands squarely on Shipley’s chest, the impact echoing around the arena. O’Malec seems to have hurt himself, though, and can’t make the cover.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: What a wuss! POTATOES!
Hans Heinemann: Why can’t O’Malec make the cover? Ach, if he expected to get hurt, avoiding any high risk moves would have been the smart thing.
Miguel Rodriguez: Not getting that girl pregnant last night would have been the smart thing for me to do, but it didn’t happen that way!
Silveira, favouring her right arm after the hammerlock, tries to lift O’Malec to his feet. However, spotting Shipley lying on the canvas, she covers him.
ONE!
TWO!
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: But the lazy wuss O’Malec stops the count!
Hans Heinemann: What a surprise…
Miguel Rodriguez: Did I mention that I love you guys?
Shipley recovers alarmingly quickly, taking Silveira down with a hip toss. Shipley follows this up with a dropkick right to the face. It takes Silveira off balance, and she falls over the top rope backwards and out of the ring.
The lights suddenly fade out in the arena. The whole crowd is buzzing. Nobody knows what's going on. The announcers have no idea what's going on either. A few moments later, the lights come back and TAN is in the ring!
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: TAN~! That's TAN~!
Hans Heinemann: No kidding. Looking stupid as always.
TAN is wearing their typical carrot costumes and they tackle Crimson O'Malec down. Joey and Lamar start beating him down. The crowd is electric as Tim Shipley and Amy Silveira come from behind and grab TAN into stereo DDTs! The lights fade out again. Some of the more amusing fans in the audience have busted out lighters.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: What the hell is going on?
Miguel Rodriguez: This is madness!
Hans Heinemann: Is this sanctioned by Pearl? I mean, this is a bit random.
Just then, the lights fade back up and the Killer Pirates from the Outer Caribbean are in the ring! Captain Jack Morgan nails Silveira with an Enziguiri that sends her down to the mat. The "Killer Klown from Outer Space" clotheslines Shipley to hell as he runs into him.
Miguel Rodriguez: That's the Killer Pirates! What are they doing here?
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: Bastard Pirates!
Hans Heinemann: Pirates are actually pretty cool people when you get to know them.
They pose for the crowd, which draws boos. Jack pulls Silveira up and throws her to the clown, who hits a sidewalk slam on her. The KKFOS then kicks her out of the ring. Jack points to Shipley. They go over and pull him to his feet. They signal for something but Shipley Double DDTs them and O'Malec is back up. They start stomping on the Pirates but the lights fade out again.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: WHO FORGOT TO PAY THE ELECTRIC BILL~?! POTATOES!
After a few moments, the lights fade back up and the crowd starts going nuts. James Varga is in the ring with a microphone. Shipley and O'Malec stare him down. They then try to charge him but TAN takes Shipley down and the Pirates grab O'Malec.
James Varga: What did I tell you scum suckers before? I told you that...
James doesn't see Silveira on the apron. She uses the ropes and nails him with a slingshot tackle to the mat! Silveira starts pounding on Varga as the lights fade out once more. The whole crowd is electric. Everyone is buzzing about what is happening in the arena. The lights then fade back up once more and the crowd goes nuts in shock over what they see. Every single James Varga sidekick character is in the aisle and around ringside (all 160 of them to be exact). But there is a man in the ring. A skinny man with short dirty blonde hair who is wearing a black Darth Vader shirt that says "Revenge" on the front of it, khaki lounge shorts, and tan colored Vans with ankle high socks. The crowd is going nuts when they realize what is going on. Silveira, Shipley, and O'Malec have no idea who he is, but then the horror suddenly comes over them. They try to attack the man but he dodges and they get bum rushed and over powered by the Pirates, TAN, James Varga, and "Army Ranger" Jon Collingwood, who tripped up Shipley as he got too close to the ropes. Varga hands the man the microphone.
James Varga: HAHAHAHAHAHA~! You morons wanted a war? You never listen! And I bet you all are wondering who this is. (smiles) Well, I'm what you call James Varga...the HANDLER~!
The whole crowd goes nuts over this. Everyone is in shock over this development. One of Varga's characters then goes over and joins the announce position. Dave gives him a look.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: Who are you?
the Horny Mathematician: I am the Horny Mathematician and I am joining you to enlighten the people.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: Oh great...
Hans Heinemann: I’m sorry… the Horny Mathematician?!
the Horny Mathematician: The properties of Cobalt equal a penis and one-third Vagina.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: ...
Miguel Rodriguez: Does it also equal my beeeg boy?
The crowd then goes crazy as Paddy O'Shea comes running out with back-up, mainly the Full House, Mike Wade, Ellis Nash, Void, and Jack Moses, but Void gets bum rushed by men dressed as giant Voles as they come out the entrance way! There look to be 15 of them with different colors and props. The Full House doesn't get halfway to the ring before they are attacked by a bunch of guys dressed up like Japanese movie monsters! Jack Moses doesn't get much farther as he is taken down by the Nookie Monster and the Giant Sperm, who scare him into submission on stupidity alone. They beat on them in a rabid fury. Nash, Wade, and O'Shea enter the ring but get attacked by the Pirates!
James Varga: GET'EM! GET'EM!
James Varga the character asks for the mic, which James Varga the handler grants him.
James Varga: Listen to our Head Writer! Listen to him! KILL'EM! KILL'EM ALL!
Varga the character hands Varga the handler back the mic.
James Varga: Yeah, so this is the AWC, huh? (looks around) Who gives a fuck?
Back timing. Nash, Wade, and O'Shea fight off the Pirates only to be attacked by the Porno Power Rangers and Psycho Bunny. James Varga the handler is very pleased.
James Varga: This is the Varga Wrestling Club right now! Yeah...KILL'EM! KILL THE CRAP! KILL THE AWC! KILL THE BULLSHIT! ALL OF IT!
The announcers begin to have a little discussion.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: What is the meaning of this?
the Horny Mathematician: The square root of penis is the vas deferens.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: But what does that have to do with wrestling?
the Horny Mathematician: Nothing at all. It has everything to do with me being horny.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: I'm sorry I asked.
Miguel Rodriguez: I’m happy you asked. It makes you look like a twit!
Hans Heinemann: I really should leave…
The crowd then cheers wildly as the locker room empties out. Bloodlines, Rainbow Flag, Team Super Evil, the inactive Herb Vanburen, the British Bomber, Gabriel and Andy Murray all come running out only to be met by about 100 of James' characters. The Japanese Masked Monkeys attack Bloodlines as they first come out and are joined by the Japanese Kaiju Monsters. TAN climbs out of the ring and tries to fight off the Rainbow Flag but trip over their own costumes and fall right into Bizarro James Varga, Bizarro Jon Collingwood, Bizarro Danny Hernandez, and Bizarro Swede Johanssen. Rainbow Flag climbs into the ring. Varga the handler points them out.
James Varga: Hey! Hey! Hey! (pointing) Get them! Kill the AWC!
Rainbow Flag then start making out. Bad mistake as "Big" Dick N. Uranus, the Nookie Monster, the Giant Sperm, and Porno Yoda all enter the ring. They all get horny and attack the Rainbow Flag with a mad orgy of violence! The Masked Man, who just now jumped over the barricade, is attacked by Varga the character as he tries to enter the ring. He falls out to the floor and all of Varga's Hades Corporation executive characters start beating up him and Herb Van Buren, who comes over to try and help him out.
the Horny Mathematician: The origin of lesbianism is a prostate.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: DO YOU EVER STOP~?!
Hans Heinemann: That’s how you make me feel every week, Dave.
Team Super Evil and the British Bomber all hit the ring. They charge after Varga the handler who dodges out of the way. Jon Collingwood exits the ring and spears Jim McCallister, AWC’s lighting director, as he is trying to slide into the ring after getting caught up a little way back. Criminal Behavior then comes over and helps him take down Gabriel while they're at it.
James Varga: HELP! HELP!
The Masked Man almost grabs Varga when the Teenage Mutant Ninja Robots, Space Condom 3000, Whack Off the Clown, and Mini-Varga come in and make the save. The Masked Man goes down and fends off the Clown, Condom, and Mini-Varga but is no match for the combined strength of the Robots, who overpower him with their ninja skills and robotics.
James Varga: Yeah...
The British Bomber then tackles Varga the handler down as the crowd goes nuts. The Evil Pigs from WMW and Eon Blue Apocalypse from HSW enter the ring and take care of the Bomber without much trouble, considering it's a 4-on-1 beat down. They throw the Bomber out of the ring and continue the attack on the floor. James Varga the character then tells the Teenage Mutant Ninja Robots something and they go attack Team Super Evil with the help of Devolution, which consists of "Old Man" Dick Scare, Randy Boring, and Tyroniqua. O'Shea is back up and he tackles Varga the handler down to the mat and starts punching him.
Miguel Rodriguez: YEAH~! GET HIM! KICK HIS ASS!
the Horny Mathematician: The origin of the vagina is a penis.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: How long are you going to be here?
the Horny Mathematician: As long as my Viagra is working.
Hans Heinemann: I want to leave, but I’m compelled to stay to watch you two suffer.
Varga the character then sees this and knocks O'Shea off of him with a forearm smash. Varga the handler then gets up as Varga the character has O'Malec. Varga then tells Varga to get Collingwood. Varga the character yells for Jon as Shipley is back to his feet. He sees the two Vargas and goes after the bigger one. Only problem is he forgot about the other characters and gets attacked by the four hornballs who attacked the Rainbow Flag earlier, namely the Nookie Monster, Dick N. Uranus, the Giant Sperm, and Porno Yoda. Whack Off the Clown and Space Condom 3000 try to attack Silveira as she gets up, but she fights them off easily. They fall to the floor and she lunges for Varga the handler only to Harry Pothead, Ricky Retardo, and Varga's old crew from his GHW days (namely Old School, Mr. Dan Evil, Camera Dude, Gen. Abu Mohammed, the General's Translator, Crawl, and Link) grab her by the legs and pull her to the floor where they beat her down.
James Varga: HAHAHAHAHA! Who can stop me now? The AWC is mine now mother fuckers!
Varga then sees Andy Murray, who they all forgot about, coming from the crowd over the railing.
James Varga: HEY! Look at this! (pointing at Andy) Look at this!
The Hades Corporation's GHOST attack squad members grab Andy just as he climbs up on the apron and pull him down. His face hits the apron hard and he falls to the floor where the GHOST unit stomps on him.
James Varga: (cackles) So this is the great AWC, huh? The place I've been hearing and seeing so much of. (looks around) Looks like a shithole to me. All I see is a bunch of losers who suck dick, a couple of lesbians, and a fucking midget is pwning this place. How fucking sad is that?!
Miguel Rodriguez: He’s talking about me!!!
Jon Collingwood climbs into the ring. Varga the character whispers something in his ear. Jon smiles and nods his head.
James Varga: Watch this losers! This is gonna be great!
Collingwood grabs the weary O'Malec and pulls him to his feet. Jon then grabs him into a Gorilla Press and launches him over the top rope and into the crowd! The people catch him as best they can but he takes them down with him. O'Malec is out.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: OH MY ROD~! They just used him like a space shuttle!
Miguel Rodriguez: Wow...this is unreal.
Hans Heinemann: This is entertainment, folks. It’s not technical wrestling match that I love, but it’s something different.
the Horny Mathematician: The theory of relativity states that when a sperm hits the egg, the ultimate result is orgasm.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: WILL YOU BE SERIOUS?!
Some of the wrestlers try to get back up and hit the ring, but are overpowered by Varga's many characters. Collingwood and Varga the character pull Shipley back up and start beating him up in the near corner.
James Varga: Wait a minute! Wait a minute! Let me!
Varga the handler hands Collingwood the mic and then starts punching down Shipley! This guy looks frail and weak, but he seems very tough and violent at the same time. He stomps a mudhole in Shipley when he hits the bottom turnbuckle. Collingwood hands Varga the mic.
James Varga: Well, is that all you got? Surely there's more better than this shit!
Pierce Lavelle's entrance music hits and the crowd goes ballistic. Lavelle, Steven Xandrous, the Educator, the Illustrious Face Eater, and the Farmer, the last of the AWC locker room members, come out with steel chairs and start laying waste to the weakest of the sidekicks.
Miguel Rodriguez: YEAH~! FIGHT THIS OFF VARGA! YOU FUCKING SLIME!
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~! says AWC 3:16 says we're gonna kick your ass Varga!
Hans Heinemann: YEAH~!
the Horny Mathematician: The square root of cum is magna cum laude.
They fight off all of the weakest sidekicks. Meanwhile, in the ring, Varga is having all of his stronger characters get armed with chairs.
James Varga: Get the weapons! (frantically) GET THE WEAPONS~!
Lavelle and his group reach the ring. Lavelle's music fades off as the crowd goes wild. They then charge all at once but Xandrous is jumped from behind without any chance to use their chairs by Chris and Mike Savage, "Big" Frank Torres, the 12 Robes that the Hades Corporation experimented on, and the Evil Pigs' manager the Exorcist. They are soon overpowered and get a nasty beatdown. Meanwhile, in the ring, Lavelle and the Educator are in a chair duel with Varga the character, Collingwood, and Eon Blue Apocalypse while the Illustrious Face Eater and the Farmer have a chair duel with the Killer Pirates of the Outer Caribbean and Criminal Behavior. The Educator is the first to go down when he ducks a Varga chair shot only to be nailed with a Conchairto by Eon Blue Apocalypse. Varga the handler low blows the Farmer from behind and he gets a Conchairto of his own courtesy of the Killer Pirates. That leaves the Face Eater and Lavelle against 8 wrestlers and a handler. The Masked Man gets back up and tries to tackle Varga the handler but he pulls out mace and sprays it in his eyes. Educator turns around in pain only to be nailed by a sickening chairshot by Jon Collingwood.
James Varga: OUCHIE MOMMA~!
The Masked Man goes down with a thud. Collingwood turns around and Lavelle decks him with his chair. This leaves him open for Varga the character to nail him hard in the back with his chair. Lavelle is in agonizing pain from the blow as he turns around and Varga throws him his chair. Lavelle catches it and Varga nails him with the Van Daminator! The Face Eater is then nailed in the back by Mantra of Eon Blue Apocalypse and then he gets a Con-chair-to rom Captain Jack Morgan and Mantra's partner Schism. The Face Eater goes down. The crowd is buzzing with negativity as Varga the handler has a big grin on his face.
James Varga: I had my character tell you idiots that this would happen and none of you listened to his words. So, I went all over the internet to find all of my characters and here they are. (smiles) I bet none of you jackasses saw this one coming. (cackles) Well, it looks like the Varga Wrestling Club is business and, I must say, things can only go up here in the V-W-C.
The crowd boos as Varga the handler and Varga the character pose in the middle of the ring standing side by side. The other characters start posing as well, yelling things at the crowd, and acting all tough. The camera then pans around at all of the fallen AWC wrestlers who never saw this invasion coming. The camera ends back on the two Vargas posing side by side as the show goes off the air.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: POTATOES~!