Fresh! Results9th August 2005
Irish Geography I
FEATURING: RED ROCK, BOOLIE, PADDY O'SHEA
AUTHORS: JOSH YOUNG AND MICHAEL DOHERTY
The camera cuts backstage where there are two unknown men; one stands 5'10”, the other stands a ridiculous 7'7”. They're wandering around the hallways looking from side to side, checking every door as they walk past it.
Red Rock: I honestly have no idea where we are Boolie... this map is shit!
Boolie: Don't worry buddy! I'm sure it's not that hard to find, this place isn't THAT big.
Red Rock: Well according to this piece of shit...
Red Rock unfolds the map, which just looks like a complicating mess of lines and tiny little bits of writing. Red Rock holds the map up to his face and rotates the map in all sorts of different directions trying to make sense of where they are on it.
Red Rock: According to this we're walking down this bit on... floor 3?! FLOOR 3?! Bloody hell that's nowhere near where we have to be... fuck’s sake...
Red Rock lowers the map and steps forward when as if from nowhere Paddy O'Shea stands face to face with Red Rock.
Red Rock: EEKKKKKK~! I mean ARGH! Bugger me! Well if it isn't Paddy O'Shea!
Paddy O'Shea: Aye how the feck are ye ol’ scallywag?
Red Rock and Paddy share an awkward hand hake; O’Shea fastens his grip and begins to crush Red Rock's hand. Red Rock expresses a face of pain as Paddy lets go.
Paddy O'Shea: Don' be such a sissy! Wha’ ye been up t’ anyway?
Paddy slaps Red Rock on the back making him stumble forward a little bit
Red Rock: Oh...well you know I'm fine been doing this and that. How are you Paddy?
Paddy O’Shea: Aye well ye might know I'm in the main event for Battle Of Britain what ye think about that?
Red Rock rolls his eyes.
Red Rock: (under his breath) I don't care...
Paddy O'Shea: Wha’ was that no’?
Red Rock: Err... Nothing. WOW... that's fantastic Paddy good for you... I'm ever so pleased for you... Anyway, I don't suppose you could help me out?
Paddy O'Shea: Aye, aye! Anythin' for me ol' pal Red Rock what can aye do for ye?
Red Rock: Well I'm having a bit of trouble finding the entrance to the arena, which way is it?
Paddy O'Shea: Oh aye that's easy just keep walkin' down these corridors and take a left, then a right, then another right, then a left, then go down the stairs, take a left... then a right.
Red Rock: Ah cool thank –
Paddy O'Shea: THEN another left where ye'll find another flight o' stairs, go down them fer another floor then take a right!
Red Rock: Super duper! I'll be on –
Paddy O'Shea: Then ye'll a set o' double doors and go through them and there ye'll find it.
Red Rock has a bemused look on his face and nods slightly.
Red Rock: Errr... thanks... well I'll be on my way then...
Paddy O'Shea: Aye! Good luck t’ ye’s! (under his breath) feckheads...
Paddy O'Shea walks away laughing to himself as Red Rock and Boolie walk away.
The Apology
FEATURING: THE FARMER, CHRIS METAL, AMY SILVEIRA
AUTHOR: YRAN (WITH INPUT FROM DAVID "DJ" HEDLEY
The camera opens to cast its watchful eye on the backstage area of the Lyon arena that the AWC superstars find themselves competing in tonight.
Slowly the camera pans around, and we realise it is in a long corridor that leads from the staff entrance. As the camera focuses on the door, almost on cue, The Farmer pulls it open with force and steps in, sports bag in his right hand.
He is joined in the arena by a second man. A new face to AWC fans, but to the long term fans of wrestling he is recognisable as Chris Metal of PCW “fame”. Those internet marks amongst us already know that Metal is Mickey’s coach and is escorting him around Europe as he trains to fully learn his wrestling technique.
Fitz-McCarthy is dressed in a pair of blue jeans and a white shirt as he passes a few stage hands and road agents. As he walks, he notices Amy Silveira standing in a side corridor, and he approaches.
The Farmer: How ‘ur neck?
He reaches up and holds his neck as though feeling her pain. Silveira holds her neck as well. Maybe it’s a psychology thing...
Amy Silveira: It's alright. Not as bad as my dad thought it would be, but it never is...
Silveira smiles a little, looking up into the eyes of The Farmer.
The Farmer: I mean’t to apol-o-gise but what’ wit’ yer dad and all...
Amy nods and smiles a little again.
Amy Silveira: I understand...
The Farmer smiles. As he does, Chris Metal touches him on the shoulder.
Chris Metal: I'm going to the locker room. Hurry along when you're done screwing...
With that, Chris Metal returns to the main corridor and walks off.
Chris Metal: And…
Metal comes back around the corner.
Chris Metal: May the Magnetism be with you!
Finally, Metal leaves the situation after delivering his world famous line.
The Farmer: Sorry 'bout him…
Mickey is a little embarrassed by what Chris first said.
The Farmer: When yer man was wrasslin’ Aimz was 'da only "lady" 'bout...
Amy Silveira: It’s okay.
Silveira knows that Chris Metal is from the stone-age of wrestling. She nods. An awkward silence falls over the conversation.
Just then, Pearl walks past in the background.
The Farmer: I gotta go sort something...
And with that, Mickey was gone and the awkward silence was left behind.
The Farmer: Mister Pearl, can I 'ave a wee word?
Pearl nods towards his office as the camera fades to black.
Introduction
FEATURING: DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!, MIGUEL "THE MIDGET" RODRIGUEZ, HANS HEINEMANN
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: The Illustrious Face-Eater, Steven Xandrous, The Educator.
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. Paddy O’Shea’s Columbus Cross on fellow Irishman Mike Wade; Jonny Sake being hit with a police baton; the Varga invasion that ensured pandemonium at the end of the last Fresh!.
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~!: Welcome to the Varga Wrestling Club!
Miguel Rodriguez: If you’ll believe James Varga, that is now our official name!
Hans Heinemann: But... we don’t. So... it isn’t. Meh. Welcome to Fresh!.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: Cheer up Hans! Lots to look forward to. We might get to hear more about The Battle Of Britain – further details on the Streets Of London match, maybe.
Hans Heinemann: I’m more interested in the announcement of some real matches for the show.
Miguel Rodriguez: I’m more interested in AMY SILVEIRA! Ohhh boy! Eight inches ALREADY!
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: And on that note... let’s talk about what matches we have tonight. Last week’s show was invaded by James Varga and his, er, delightful creations, meaning we didn’t have a resolution to the Frontier title match – which I must say was POTATOES up to that point. Hopefully the rematch tonight will live up to that.
Hans Heinemann: Pierce Lavelle has also upheld the non-title challenge from the Face-Eater, and that’ll be our main event, plus Steven Xandrous defends his Relentless title against The Farmer – about time. There’s hardly been no relent to Xandrous’ title reign.
Miguel Rodriguez: On with the show!
Irish Geography II
FEATURING: RED ROCK, BOOLIE, FREDROCK~!
AUTHOR: JOSH YOUNG
The camera cuts to the boiler room named on a sign as L'Astroballe; it is dark and silent apart from the eerie humming of the electrical generators.
Boolie: I think we should have went left when you said go right.
Red Rock: Fuck off Boolie, just fuck off! I blame all the sodding French signs, bloody French I hate the French!
Red Rock and Boolie stand closely together due to the lack of light where they are walking around.
Boolie: Sure is dark down here, kinda like a scary movie! We might even get stabbed to death!
Red Rock: I hope not! I don't want to die in France... they'll probably use my body and turn in to some weird “cuisine” pffft!
CLANG!
Red Rock: What the shite was that?!
Boolie wraps his monstrous arms round Red Rock and pulls him towards him quite hard.
Red Rock: Argh! Gerrofff! It was probably the shoddy French workmanship, this place is probably falling apart, and they wonder why we got the Olympics...
Red Rock and Boolie slowly and cautiously walk on when they hear another noise behind them. Both men freeze and gulp as they realize someone is standing behind them. Red Rock and Boolie both turn around slowly.
Red Rock: ARGH~!
FREDROCK~!: AAAAAHHHH~!
Boolie: URRRGHHHH~!
All: ARRRRRGHHHH~!
Red Rock: What the fuck?! Who are you?
FREDROCK~!: I'm FREDROCK~!
Red Rock looks a little bit confused.
Red Rock: Fred Rock?! Are you trying to be funny?
Boolie: Ha... Fred Rock sounds like Red Rock.
Red Rock gives Boolie a sarcastic applause.
Red Rock: No really, who the plums are you?
FREDROCK~!: I'm FREDROCK~!. The almighty, invincible, undefeated... janitor.
Red Rock: Riiight... I'm sure... Hey maybe you can help me, see we're a tad lost you see maybe you could take us to the ring –
FREDROCK~!: SUUUURE! I guess, this way REDROCK~!
Red Rock: No, don't say it like that!
FREDROCK~!: Sure thing REDROCK~!
Red Rock: No, stop it!
Red Rock, Boolie and FREDROCK~! walk away as Red Rock and FREDROCK~! argue over Red Rock's name.
Forgot About Dre... Well, Actually Mickey...
FEATURING: THE FARMER, DAVID "PEARL" HARBER
AUTHOR: YRAN
The camera opens as Mickey Fitzpatrick-McCarthy stands in Pearl’s office. David Harber pulls the door closed as The Farmer looks eager to get started.
Pearl: How can I help you?
The Entertainment Manager of AWC makes his way around the desk and sits down in his seat.
The Farmer: Last w‘ek…
Harber nods.
The Farmer: ‘ye announced a wee farm’ard match…
Harber nods once again.
Pearl: Correct…
The Farmer: ‘ye didn’t tell me ‘bout it!
Harber shrugs.
Pearl: Am I to inform you of every decision I make? I had a latte this morning instead of my usual cappuccino… And I had steak for lunch, although the lasagne looked so good…
The Farmer growls, a scary growl unlike Yran’s weak attempts at “Grr!”-ing. Pearl quickly shuts up.
The Farmer: ‘ye announced a match that has me all ‘ver it!
Pearl: So you came in here to tell me you want to enter?
The Farmer nods.
Pearl: Good… I’ll add you to the list…
Pearl smiles as Fitz spins on his heel and leaves. The camera fades to black.
The British Bomber vs Red Rock
STIPULATION: SINGLES
REFEREE: AARON DAVIES
AUTHOR: YRAN
“Enter Sandman” by Metallica erupts onto the speakers as The British Bomber steps onto the stage. He waves to a few of the cheering crowd before walking to the ring.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: God damn British!
Miguel Rodriguez: Here comes a FAW Hall of Famer!
Hans Heinemann: He hails from Birmingham, England which is where we will be in a few weeks on Fresh!.
He slides into the ring and stares at the entrance-way as the opening feed back of "Blame Thrower" by Reuben hits as the lights lower to darkness. The opening riff hits and the lights flicker red, and Red Rock's logo jumps onto the screen. The heavy riff kicks in...
We all have responsibilities,
we all have a social debt
and if there is a man free of guilt,
I haven't met him yet
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: Where the hell is he?
Miguel Rodriguez: Do we have a no-show?
Hans Heinemann: I hope so, I'll get my gun!
The British Bomber stands in the ring waiting impatiently for Red Rock.
Hans Heinemann: If he doesn't get out here soon Aaron Davies is going to give this one to The Bomber!
Aaron Davies checks his watch and shakes his head when all of a sudden the crowd over at the east tier of the L'Astroballe cheers.
Miguel Rodriguez: There he is! Dangling from the second tier!
Red Rock can be seen dangling by one hand, followed by his sidekick Boolie. Red Rock lets go and drops down to the ground.
Crowd: OOOOOOOOOOOOOHHHH~!
Red Rock pushes through the crowd with Boolie dropping down behind him. He reaches the barrier by the ring and hops over. He is still wearing casual clothes.
Hans Heinemann: Not only was he late for his match, he's not even dressed! I hope he gets the sack!
Red Rock grabs a microphone and speaks, sound slightly short of breath.
Red Rock: GOSH! Sorry I'm late everyone SOMEONE gave me shit directions! But it's okay I'm hear now and I promise to put on a great show. I will ensure that my first appearance in AWC will be one that YOU, the ugly rasclats of France will remember! Think of it as a “Sorry I'm late” thing... actually, even better it could be a “Hey no hard feelings, my country got the Olympics in 2012 and yours didn't!” thing.
Crowd: LE BOOOO~! HE HE HAW HE HAW~!
Red Rock: WHAT? Ah what the fuck do you people know anyway? Cheeky bastards, you say we know nothing about cuisine? You people eat stuff that we consider vermin!
Red Rock drops the microphone and enters the ring. As he steps up he is knocked straight back down by a wicked clothesline from The British Bomber.
Hans Heinemann: Strong clothesline by The British Bomber!
Miguel Rodriguez: He won’t be late again…
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: God damn British fools!
Boolie hits on the ring apron at frustration at Red Rock as he watches Bomber kicking the PCW New Blood 3 winner in the stomach.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: Eire Og! Eire Og!
Hans Heinemann: Dave… They’re not involved in this match…
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: I know… But I want them to come out and sort out these two English son-of-…
Miguel Rodriguez: Now, now Dave… Play nice!
Quickly Red Rock rolls away from his opponent and stands up. He is still a little out of breath from hanging from the rafters.
Miguel Rodriguez: He must be really lazy… He only fought his way through the crowd and he’s tired…
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: He’s English…
The British Bomber approaches again as Red Rock swings a right hand. Bomber blocks and goes for his own. Red Rock and swings a left hand. Bomber blocks and swings his left hand. Red Rock blocks and kicks The British Bomber in his “special zone.”
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: POTATOES!
Hans Heinemann: Cheap shot by Red Rock.
All the men in the crowd breathe in quickly as TBB doubles over.
Miguel Rodriguez: There is going to be no little Bomber-men running around any time soon…
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: Good…
Red Rock takes advantage and smashes his opponent’s face into Red Rock’s knee.
Hans Heinemann: Nice capitalization by Red Rock with that facebuster…
Miguel Rodriguez: You mean nice cheating…
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: Capitalisation is scum for cheating…
Hans Heinemann: YOU calling ME scum?
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: No, Red Rock.. He capitalized… He cheated…
Hans Heinemann: What?
Miguel Rodriguez: Irish logic?
As TBB rolls on the mat, Red Rock mounts his chest and begins to barrage his face with a fury of fists. The ref counts. 1… 2… 3… 4…
Hans Heinemann: Red Rock is close to being disqualified…
Just as he reaches the DQ 5, Red Rock stops his punishment and climbs off TBB. The French crowd is booing the opening contest of AWC’s Fresh! as TBB runs at Red Rock with grimace all across his face.
Hans Heinemann: The fans are showing their disgust for these two English superstars…
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: Just wait until they get to Ireland…
Red Rock tries to side step but Bomber extends his left arm and cleans Red Rock to the mat. The former PCW Rising Star champion bounces to his feet quickly but is met by another clothesline.
Hans Heinemann: Red Rock won the PCW Rising Star championship many moons ago…
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: Yeah, but who didn’t?
Miguel Rodriguez: …Chris Metal?
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: Who?
Hans Heinemann: Who?
Miguel Rodriguez: The guy that turned up with The Farmer…
As quickly as before Red Rock is back up. His eyes watching the outstretched arm of The British Bomber as TBB swings. Red Rock ducks underneath and hooks a full nelson on his opponent.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: MASTERLOCK! MASTERLOCK! MASTERLOCK!
Miguel Rodriguez: What is he doing?
Hans Heinemann: I think this is one of the moments where he gets taken over by the ghost of J.R.
Miguel Rodriguez: From Dallas?
The British Bomber isn’t given a chance to fight the masterful submission hold as Red Rock pushes TBB into the ropes. Bomber bounces off the ropes into a hip-toss. Red Rock follows him to the mat and hooks the leg.
Hans Heinemann: Red Rock is hoping that hip toss was enough…
ONE!
TWO!
Kickout.
Miguel Rodriguez: What now?
Red Rock rolls away as Boolie climbs onto the apron to show his disapproval of that count by Aaron Davies.
Hans Heinemann: That wasn’t a bad count…
Miguel Rodriguez: I know that… You know that… The French know that… But Boolie is doing it to cause distraction… LOOK!
Red Rock is standing on the face of The British Bomber. He swivels his foot as though putting out a cigarette on Bomber’s face.
Hans Heinemann: Disgusting…
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: More capitalization by the cheater from Cheaterville…
Hans Heinemann: Actually he grew up in Alder-
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: I know!
As Aaron Davies finishes discussing the matter with Boolie, Red Rock stops and backs away from his opponent. TBB holds his face as he stands up to see Red Rock charging him. Red Rock dips his head and spears The British Bomber into the turnbuckle.
Hans Heinemann: Nice spear by Red Rock catching Bomber off guard!
The British Bomber staggers out of the corner, only for Red Rock to chop his chest and knock him into the corner. Bomber slumps down to the mat as Red Rock places his legs on the bottom rope.
Miguel Rodriguez: What’s he doing?
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: Cheating…
Hans Heinemann: Looks like Red Rock is going to hit Rusty Junior Hacksaw!
Then he winds up his leg and kicks TBB in his “special zone” for the second time in the contest.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: POTATOES!
Hans Heinemann: Why do you do that?
Miguel Rodriguez: Stops the match writer having to say penis…
Hans Heinemann: But you just did…
Miguel Rodriguez: Whatever…
Red Rock teases the crowd and pumps the air with his hands as TBB struggles to massage his family making device and return to standing. Red Rock watches his opponent stand and tries to take control of his head and lead him across the ring.TBB counters and elbows the Aldershot home boy in the midsection and pushes him into the ropes.
Miguel Rodriguez: The Bomber getting in some offence…
Red Rock bounces off to be hit with a spinebuster. Bomber rolls out of the spinebuster and applies an armbar, wrenching the arm of Red Rock almost out of it’s socket.
Hans Heinemann: That looks sore…
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: Serves the cheater right!
Miguel Rodriguez: But The British Bomber is English as well…
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: I know, but at least he is accepting it by gracefully losing…
Seconds later, Bomber releases the hold and pulls Red Rock up. Taking the worked on arm he applies a standing shoulder lock, pushing his countryman’s shoulder out of push. Red Rock screams out in pain.
Hans Heinemann: Here comes Boolie…
TBB is forced to release the hold as he notices Boolie entering the ring.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: Cowardly capitalizing son-of-a-…
Hans Heinemann: Why can’t you say cheater?
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: I’ll get done for discrimination against the English…
TBB beelines for Red Rock’s sidekick, but as quickly as Boolie has entered the ring, he slides out the bottom rope.
Miguel Rodriguez: Bye bye Boolie…
Hans Heinemann: What a cameo…
Bomber follows him to the ropes and shouts at him from the ring.
Hans Heinemann: Bomber better watch out as he turns around…
As The British Bomber turns around he is low-blowed by Red Rock and thrown into the turnbuckle. Bouncing off the padding, TBB staggers backwards into a sleeper hold by Red Rock.
Hans Heinemann: I think it’s coming…
And then, Red Rock lifts him up into an elevated sit-out DDT, hooking his leg in the process.
Hans Heinemann: RDT!
ONE!
TWO!
THREE!
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: ...Cheater!
James Brunt: The winner... RED ROCK!
Red Rock’s arm is raised high.
Hans Heinemann: A good performance to defeat his fellow AWC debutant, a man who has become quite the wrestling mainstay.
I Need To Borrow This I
FEATURING: THE FARMER
AUTHOR: YRAN
KNOCK KNOCK!
The camera was brought backstage by the knocking sound of a fist on a door. As the camera focused it was clear to see that The Farmer stood at the aforementioned door. Mickey Fitz-McCarthy brushed his hand through his red hair as he stood at the door with a black Eire Og t-shirt and dusty blue jeans.
KNOCK KNOCK!
Again Mickey rapped the door but still no answer. The Irishman looked to both sides for anyone around and noticed it was clear, so he tried the handle of the door.
The Farmer: Andy… ‘ye in here?
His Irish accent echoed around an empty locker room as the viewers became aware that it was Andy Murray he was looking for.
Mickey took a couple of steps into the locker room and looked around. There was no sign of Andy Murray, but in the corner, trapped in a pen was Murray’s pet badger that had set The Farmer’s leg alight only weeks ago. Seeing the pet, Mickey grew a grin on his face.
The Farmer: There ye are…
The smile continued to grow as Fitz approached the fire-breathing badger. He stepped over the small barrier and scooped the badger into his arms.
The Farmer: Ye’r coming wit’ me!
As the badger wriggled, the Irishman “Ssh!”-ed the animal and wrapped his arms tighter around it. Spinning on his heel, Mickey quickly stepped from the room, and the next shot went to...
Repercussions
FEATURING: DAVID "PEARL" HARBER, HATE, DANNY O'SHEA
AUTHOR: JAAKKO OKSA
...David Harber’s office, where he is pushing some papers on his desk. A hard, single knock on the door stops Pearl on his tracks and it takes him a moment to gather his thoughts. He then leans back on his chair and crosses his arms on the desk.
Pearl: Come in.
The door opens and Hate steps in, almost blocking the doorway with his frame and presence. Hate has his trenchcoat on, and his gas mask hangs in his hand. His head is screaming red as always, and he eyes Pearl coldly. Harber motions for Hate to take a seat, but Hate refuses, standing in front of Pearl’s desk.
Pearl: Ah, Hate, how nice of you to join us…
Hate: No, how nice of you to have me. Mr. Harber… I have something I want to go through with you.
Pearl motions for Hate to go on, and Hate takes a wider stance before speaking.
Hate: Several weeks ago, you crowned me the Fresh!man of the week, and rightfully so, after I dominated whatever poor fools you sent my way. I crushed them like the Nondivine Juggernaut should. They tasted the pain, and they tasted the defeat. For that, I was given the title of the Fresh!man. But… to my understanding, being a Fresh!man entails a title shot. For some reason, I have not seen a title shot laid at my feet. Mr. Harber, what is behind this… delay?
David ”Pearl” Harber shifts a few papers around before he leans forward and looks straight into Hate’s eyes, who defies Pearl with his own stare.
Pearl: Well, Hate… Let me cut to the chase. I’ve been beset with complaints about your behaviour, the LEAST of which is your disrespectful attitude towards the staff of the AWC. But the biggest thing is how you have been treating Paddy O’Shea. I was actually going to call you into my office last week and have you explain your actions towards Mr. O’Shea and his father, but then you went and assaulted Mr. O’Shea again. Now you’re standing here, and no explanation will do any more.
Hate’s face twists into a wicked smile as he listens to David Harber read out the list of attrocities he’s committed. Hate sighs and then rubs his chin, obviously pleased.
Hate: Well, Mr. Harber… What I’m doing to those two Irish rodents is none of your concern. I have done nothing too severe, which I assure can be arranged too if you wish so. What Paddy O’Shea and his father have gone through could easily have been ten times as bad. The way I see it, Mr. Harber, I’ve actually done them a FAVOR. I’ve roughed those rats up, but not too bad.
Danny O’Shea: RATS? AYE’M GONNA SLIT YER THROAT, YE SONOFABITCH!
Hate’s attention is diverted to the side of the room, where Danny O’Shea is getting out of a chair, face red with anger. Hate returns O’Shea’s stare to him, but Pearl breaks the tension up quickly.
Pearl: Mr. O’Shea, please, sit down! Do not let him agitate you. Please, just sit down.
Danny sits down, grumbling, and Hate lets out a hollow, mocking laugh.
Hate: You’re associating with rodents now, Mr. Harber? How… disappointing.
Pearl: Now, Hate, Mr. O’Shea is here for a reason. And that reason is… I am giving you an ultimatum, Hate. Either you you do what I told you to do when I named you Fresh!man, or you’re suspended.
Hate: And that would be…?
Pearl: You drew the joker. You spend tonight as a servant to an AWC star, performer or person… And that person is Danny O’Shea.
Hate looks at Pearl, stunned and at a complete loss of words. He tries to open his mouth to say something, but shuts himself up. His brow wrinkles in anger, but then he relaxes and waves his hand at Danny and Pearl.
Hate: Very well. Azagtoth will be at your disposal for…
Pearl: No, Hate. None of your minions. I want you. Either you do this, or you take your suspension right now. What’s it going to be?
Hate looks on at Pearl, almost choking on his own rage, and Danny O’Shea follows all this with an interested expression on his face. Finally Hate spits on the floor and looks at Pearl with murderous rage, nodding once. Harber smiles and then turns to Danny, who is smiling equally.
Pearl: Well, Mr. O’Shea, did you have anything in mind?
Danny O’Shea: Well, aye did have sumthing…
Danny O’Shea then stretches and lazily undoes his shoestrings, kicking them off one at a time. Danny then lifts his feet up in the air and wriggles his toes, and the camera zooms into Hate’s disgusted face before it fades to black.
Rainbow Flag vs The Full House
STIPULATION: DUO TAG
REFEREE: LARS LARSSON
AUTHOR: MICHAEL DOHERTY
Hans Heinemann: Okay, next up we’ve got The Full House versus Rainbow Flag. Rainbow Flag has been impressing as of late with their honed amateur skills. The Full House on the other hand haven’t really been doing anything.
Miguel Rodriguez: They’ll be looking to end their recent bad run with a win over these loco hombres.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: Is loco Spanish for gay? POTATOES!
Miguel Rodriguez: …let’s just cut over to James Brunt… or my beeg boy if you prefer.
James Brunt: The following is a Duo Tag match! Introducing first, from Sunnyvale, California and San Francisco, California respectively, at a combined weight of 410 pounds...
The crowd give an ecstatic cheer as “The Full House” theme song begins to play over the voice of Brunt.
What ever happened to predictability?
The milkman, the paperboy, evening TV
Everywhere you look, everywhere you go
There's a heart
A hand to hold onto
James Brunt: …Joey Dave Gladstone and Daniel Kiki Von Tannerinos The Third... THE FULL HOUSE!
Everywhere you look, everywhere you go
There's a face
Of somebody who needs you
Everywhere you look
When you're lost out there and you're all alone
A light is waiting to carry you home…
Gladstone and Tannerinos wave to the crowd and casually climb into the ring as the crowd sing along with the remaining lines, ‘Everywhere you look…’. Gladstone and Tannerinos walk over to the on the turnbuckles towards the cheering fans.
Miguel Rodriguez: They seem popular…
Hans Heinemann: That’s because these fans are idiots. Did you know that one of those guys’ finisher is a headbutt to the kidneys! This is wrestling you idiots! How about a few armbars for once?
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: GUINNESS!
Suddenly, the trio are interrupted by the voice of Janet Jackson, who’s singing "That's The Way Love Goes". The crowd boos as the arena becomes suddenly bathed in rainbow lights. But instead of the expected duo of Rainbow Flag coming out, Janet Jackson emerges, singing their theme tune with a mic in hand.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: Oh God…
Miguel Rodriguez: My beeg boy is folding up as we speak.
Janet finishes her song and turns around to the bewildered crowd who have been rendered speechless.
Janet Jackson: WOW! Look at you guys! WOW! This is so cool. Yeah! So, I guess you are all wondering why I’m here, huh?
The arena is deadly silent and not one voice answers her question.
Janet Jackson: Well, okay, I’ll tell you then! Yeah! So, since I love watching the AWC I thought I’d sing a song for you guys and especially to welcome out my favourite team RAINBOW FLAG!
The crowd suddenly become active and begin booing and hissing at the mention of their name.
Janet Jackson: WOW! You guys like them too? We’re like so alike! So do you want me to stick around to watch the match guys?
The crowd go mental as they boo and hiss and tell her to fuck off. Janet Jackson twirls and smiles at them.
Janet Jackson: WOW! You’re all like so excited for me to stay. Well, since you want me to so much… OKAY!
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: Feck…
Janet Jackson runs to the ring and climbs in. She walks over to a bewildered James Brunt with a smile on her face. She grabs the microphone but Brunt won’t let go. Whilst keeping the plastic smile fixed on her face, she kicks Brunt between the legs and shepherds him out of the ring by rolling him over and over with her foot.
Janet Jackson: Okay… now next up, is my friends…
Sam and Pat prance out onto the stage hand-in-hand, look each other in the eye and engage in a long French kiss gaining more booing from the crowd as rainbow pyros go off and a huge rainbow flag unfurls from the rafters completely blocking the view of the set.
Janet Jackson: Sam and Pat, RAINBOW FLAG!
The Flag skips to the ring hand in hand.
Hans Heinemann: Oh right… I forgot these guys were homos.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: HANS! Don’t say things like that.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~! pulls out a small hardback book from under the commentators table called ‘Political Correctness’ and opens it at a marked page.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: These men have the right to choose and express their sexuality wherever… QUEERS!
The Midget gives DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~! a confused stare.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: Sorry… Tourette’s.
Sam and Pat of Rainbow Flag enter the ring as Janet exits. Sam and Pat blow air kisses at her, which she dramatically pretends to catch. They then stand side by side, staring Tannerinos and Gladstone of The Full House down.
Hans Heinemann: This better not last long. That thing is only about ten yards from me.
The two teams have a quick word with each other and Sam and Gladstone exit the ring, leaving Pat and Tannerinos. The two move into the centre as the bell rings to start the match. The two lock up and struggle about for a few seconds before Tannerinos kicks Pat in the ribs causing him to double over. Tannerinos grabs Pat in a headlock but Pat easily pushes him off him and into the ropes. Tannerinos comes back and is caught with a drop toehold. Pat quickly begins to work on Tannerinos’ right knee by lifting his ankle up vertically and slamming knee down again.
Hans Heinemann: Tidy move there from Pat… now if we could only fix this gay thi-
Miguel Rodriguez: (whispering) Shush! Janet can hear us.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: SLUT!
Pat drags Tannerinos over to the Rainbow Flag corner and he makes the tag. Sam enters the ring and the two begin simultaneously stomping a hole in Tannerinos. The referee quickly forces Pat out of the ring. Sam bends down to pull Tannerinos to his feet but instead he gets a thumb to the eye and a shift kick to the groin much to the approval and the whooping crowd. Tannerinos springs to his feet but is quickly yanked back to the mat by Pat on the outside.
Hans Heinemann: Idiot…
Tannerinos is still lying on the mat as Sam gets to his feet a little perturbed. He drops an elbow on Tannerinos before pulling him to his feet. Once on his feet, he hits Tannerinos with his elbow twice and then throws him into the ropes. On his return, Sam catches him with a knee to the gut causing Tannerinos to flip onto his back.
Miguel Rodriguez: Ouch! That didn’t look healthy.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: POTATOES!
Sam smiles at Pat and blows him an air kiss. Pat curtly waves at him. Sam turns back around but only to be caught with a clothesline by Gladstone who has rushed into the ring to break up Rainbow Flag’s antics. Janet Jackson is screaming on the outside in disgust. The crowd however are cheering. The referee quickly pushes Gladstone back towards his corner as Sam gets to his feet. With the referee distracted, Pat climbs the turnbuckle in his corner and dives off with a body splash. He connects with Tannerinos body and quickly exits the ring. The referee doesn’t turn around until an outraged Gladstone exits the ring.
Miguel Rodriguez: Look at Gladstone! He’s dying for a tag!
Hans Heinemann: Well he’s bound to be better than Tannerinos who so far hasn’t been able to string together a series of moves.
Miguel Rodriguez: That’s because Rainbow Flag are cheating.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: It was him, Janet, not me I swear! PLASTIC FANTASTIC!
Sam quickly jumps on top of Tannerinos for the cover. With Gladstone outside the ring, the referee begins a count.
ONE!
TWO
THR-
Kickout!
Sam looks at Pat a little confused, then shrugs and goes over to make another tag in.
Hans Heinemann: Good tactic there by Rainbow Flag who are keeping each other fresh by tagging in regularly.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: Nah, they just want to feel each other.
Miguel Rodriguez: Hello beeg boy!
Hans Heinemann: Put that away! There are kids watching!
An eager Pat runs off the ropes and hits a leg drop on Tannerinos. Pat pulls Tannerinos to his feet but Tannerinos manages to grab hold of Pat’s midsection and deliver and overhead suplex. This leaves both men lying on their backs in the middle of the ring. Tannerinos is the first to react he slowly gets to his feet and begins to stumble over to his corner to make the tag. Pat however grabs a hold of Tannerinos foot and holds firm, just before Tannerinos is in reaching distance of the tag. Pat gets to his feet, still holding the foot. Tannerinos turns around and looks set to deliver an enziguri. Instead he plants a boot into Pat’s face and springs backwards, making the tag in mid flight!
Miguel Rodriguez: Wow! That was a nice reversal.
Hans Heinemann: Bah! Tannerinos only struck out in desperation, he doesn’t know what he’s doing.
Gladstone runs into the ring and dropkicks Pat who had just returned to his feet. He then runs to the other corner and dropkicks Sam who is standing on the apron, causing him to fall to the outside. Gladstone runs back over to Pat who is once again on his feet and hits a running DDT. Sam slides back into the ring as a reenergised Tannerinos gets to his feet. Sam runs towards Gladstone but Gladstone ducks, bounces off the ropes and delivers a head butt into Sam’s stomach causing him to double over. Tannerinos quickly falls up with a knee onto Sam’s nose.
Miguel Rodriguez: CLEANING THE JACKALOPE! And Sam is OUT!
Hans Heinemann: Wrestling as we know it will end if these inbreds win goddamnit!
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: …um…GUINNESS?
Sam rolls out of the ring and Tannerino follows him after being commanded to leave by the referee. However. Just as Tannerinos exits the ring, a screaming Janet Jackson plants a chair to the crown of his head, putting him down.
Miguel Rodriguez: Hello shit! We’ve got a mad Janet on the loose! Run beeg boy, hide!
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: That’s one scary mambajaba!
Gladstone hasn’t seen Janet’s attack and he doesn’t see her moving to his side of the ring. Gladstone pulls Pat to his feet and puts him straight back down with a vicious spinebuster. Gladstone climbs the nearest turnbuckle quickly yet lingers to reveal in the cheers of the crowd. This proves to be a mistake as Janet Jackson cracks him on the back with it.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: Watch the mad bitch Joey!
Gladstone winces and holds his back but still manages to stay on his feet. He jumps off the top rope and body splashes Janet Jackson, causing her plastic face to hang off.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: Put it back on, I don’t want to know what’s beneath!
Hans Heinemann: I’ll second that!
Miguel Rodriguez: Hear, hear!
Gladstone however grabs Janet’s frail frame and tosses her into the ring and then quickly follows her in. Once there, Gladstone grabs her by the ankles and begins to swing her around. Her screams are so loud they drown out the cheers of the crowd. Janet’s heads cracks off Pat’s who has just got to his feet, and to the referee’s back causing him to fall to the mat in pain. Gladstone then let’s Janet go and she goes sailing into the crowd to be poked and prodded by disgusted onlookers.
Miguel Rodriguez: Beeg boy said thank you Joey. Now pin him!
Hans Heinemann: He can’t. That idiot knocked out the referee.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: We could be here a while.
Suddenly, a figure emerges from the crowd. It is seemingly a large, butch woman who is sporting a buzz cut and has a cigarette clasped between her teeth. She powers past a few security guards and jumps the guardrail.
Miguel Rodriguez: Who the hell is that?
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: Big, butch, buzz cut… I’m going to have to go with LESBIAN!
The woman slides into the ring and runs up behind Gladstone. She stops just behind him and waits for him to turn around. Gladstone is about to jump back upon seeing her but is too slow and receives a shattering punch to the chin. Gladstone steps back holding his chin in pain and then receives the lighted cigarette right into his right eye causing Gladstone to scream like a maniac.
Miguel Rodriguez: Holy hell! Gladstone could be blind after that.
Hans Heinemann: Oh… what a tragedy…
The woman then climbs the top rope and dives off. Her huge frame completely covers Gladstone’s body in a devastating splash. The woman pulls the downed figure of Pat over to Gladstone and puts Pat’s arm over Gladstone body just as the referee begins to come around. She quickly exits the ring before she’s seen. The referee sees the cover and begins the count.
ONE!
TWO!
THREE!
Hans Heinemann: And the better team have picked up the win.
Miguel Rodriguez: Well only after interference from Janet Jackson and Attila the Hun.
Hans Heinemann: What are you talking about? Janet Jackson was with The Full House! She knocked Pat out.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~! and The Midget both stare at Hans as if to ask are you serious. Heinemann just shrugs and actually smiles.
I Need To Borrow This II
FEATURING: ANDY MURRAY, FREDROCK~!, THE FARMER
AUTHOR: YRAN
We now see Andy Murray running down a corridor panicking. Behind him runs FREDROCK~! looking confused. Murray’s face is awash with concern as he turns a corner, the camera close behind. Around the corner, Murray’s jog is cut to a walk as he is met by his Gaelic buddy, The Farmer.
Andy Murray: Mickey… Someone has stolen my badger!
Murray looks up at Mickey Fitz as FREDROCK~! bundles into the back of Andy.
The Farmer: I know…
The Farmer has a twisted smile on his face as he crosses his arms.
Andy Murray: What?
The Farmer: I borrowed the wee fecker… ‘n’ he burnt me leg!
Mickey looks down at his jeans and the camera follows. It becomes apparent that his right leg is a little black from apparent burns induced by the fire-breathing badger.
Murray chuckles.
Andy Murray: Why did you borrow him?
The Farmer: He’s about ten pounds, ‘aight?
Murray nods, looking a little confused. FREDROCK~! is still standing over his shoulder.
The Farmer: I was jus’ gettin’ used to the extra weight… I’m gon’ be Relent-las champ!
Mickey has a bold grin on his face as he speaks to Andy. Andy is finally smiling as he realises the badger thief meant no harm.
The Farmer: Who’s ‘ur man?
asks Mickey hinting at FREDROCK~!.
Andy Murray: The janitor… Can I get my badger back?
Fitz-McCarthy nods.
The Farmer: He be in me room…
The pair turn down the direction that The Farmer has come from to retrieve the badger. FREDROCK~! follows as the camera switches to...
Irish Geography III
FEATURING: DAVID "PEARL" HARBER, RED ROCK
AUTHOR: JOSH YOUNG
...outside the office of David “Pearl” Harber; the camera is focused on his name on the door. The camera tracks out to reveal Red Rock standing outside looking particularly nervous. Red Rock opens the door and Harber steps out.
Pearl: They’re busy in there. We can talk in the corridor. Sit down, Red.
Red Rock sits down on the chair adjacent to the door with his hands in his lap and his head down in shame.
Pearl: Would you care to explain to me why you were late for your match?
Red Rock: Well...
Pearl: You want to watch what you do here Red Rock, I don't care if you're new. I'm trying to run a show here and I expect the wrestlers to show up on time!
Red Rock: If you just...
Pearl: Oh, don’t interrupt, please, I’m having a hard enough time of things as it is. I'd like to think I'm a fair guy, so... just don’t do it again, please. It’s not like I don’t have other things to worry –
Red Rock: BUT IT WASN'T MY FAULT! It was Paddy O'Shea's fault he gave me gash directions! I mean can you understand a word of what that guy says? Fucking Irish!
Pearl: Blaming other people is just childish Red Rock. You're lucky FREDROCK~! found you!
Red Rock: But...
Pearl: Wait, did I really just say that?
Red Rock: But!
Harber wearily points along the corridor.
Red Rock: FINE... if you’re MAD at me...
Pearl: I’m not mad; I don’t get mad; you’ll see later on. You did well in your match, by the way –
Red Rock: Whatever.
Red Rock gets up and storms away, slamming the door through to the next corridor.
Joshua Curtis vs Andy Murray
STIPULATION: SINGLES
REFEREE: AARON DAVIES
AUTHOR: JOSH YOUNG
He who makes a beast out of himself, gets rid of the pain of being a man…
The lights in the arena dim as the intro to Avenged Sevenfold’s “Bat Country” begins to play out across the arena. With a burst of pyro at the top of the ramp, the song kicks in and the lights flash on, as Andy Murray steps out from the back, lapping up the crowd’s cheers. He pauses at the top of the ramp, takes a good look around the arena, and lifts an arm in the air in jubilance, before making his way down the ramp.
Caught here in a fiery blaze, won't lose my will to stay
These eyes won't see the same, after I flip today
James Brunt: The following is a singles match. Introducing first, from Aberdeen, Scotland, weighing in at 270 pounds... he is the “Scottish King of Cool”, ANDY MURRAY!
On his way down to the ring, Andy slaps hands with a couple of the fans, before finally reaching the bottom of the ramp, and leaping up onto the outside of the ring. Facing the entrance, he raises an arm up in the air once again, as white pyros ignite from the ring posts behind him.
I tried to drive all through the night, the heart stroke ridden weather, the barren empty sights…
No oasis here to see, the sand is singing deathless words to me
As the fireworks die down a little, Murray enters the ring between the middle and top ropes and paces across the ring, throwing both arms into the air for the fans at the other side.
Can’t you help me as I’m startin’ to burn? Too many doses and I’m startin’ to get an attraction
My confidence is leavin’ me on my own, too late to save me and you know I don’t want the attention
Finally, the music begins to die down, as Murray stands in the centre of the ring, ready to go.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: Did you know there is a Tennis player called Andy Murray?
Hans Heinemann: No I didn't, but Andy Murray didn't seem TOO happy about that earlier this week!
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: He is no camp little tennis player, he is The Scottish King of Cool!
Miguel Rodriguez: Scottish and cool in same sentence? No figure!
“Vitamin R” by Chevelle hits the PA.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: And here is his opponent!
James Brunt: And his opponent, from London, England, weighing in at 210 pounds... “The Golden Boy” JOSHUA CURTIS!
Joshua Curtis walks down the aisle focusing on Andy Murray. The Scottish King of Cool stands firm smiling at the much smaller Englishman.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: I LOVE watching English people and Scottish people fight, English people are such GIRLS~!
Hans Heinemann: I just like watching English people get beaten, pah! Two world wars and one world cup...
Miguel Rodriguez: Get over it, Heinemann! Zat happens YEARS ago!
Josh Curtis steps up on to the apron and enters the ring and stands in his corner. Referee Aaron Davies rings the bell and the match gets underway. Curtis takes a steady fighting pose, whilst Andy Murray poses for the crowd.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE Soooo COOL~!
Josh Curtis makes the first move as he rebounds off the ropes, Murray catches him and the two Britons lock horns. Murray uses his size advantage and drives Curtis down to one knee before applying an aggressive headlock!
Hans Heinemann: Murray wasting no time to try and wear Curtis down, making use of the size advantage!
Murray sustains the move and wrenches his arms tight around Curtis' head. Murray grunts aggressively and wrenches his head further before executing a bulldog. Murray instantly capitalizes and hauls Curtis straight back up to his feet.
Miguel Rodriguez: I think that one has thrown Curtis, he looking dazed!
Hans Heinemann: A very intelligent strategy by Murray, cutting the blood flow off to the brain then driving his head in to the canvas. Good stuff!
Murray continues his assault with a round of body shots with his furious fits. He pummels Curtis up against the ropes before delivering a savage headbutt, which leaves Curtis dazed hanging on the ropes.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: I bet he learned that one at his local pub!
Murray wastes no more time and grabs the arm of Curtis and whips against the ropes adjacent to them. Curtis rebound off the ropes and comes hurtling back towards Murray with a lot of momentum behind him and is met by the big boot of Andy Murray with great authority!
Miguel Rodriguez: Andy Murray very much in control at this early match!
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: I heard Murray watched Braveheart before this match, just to fire himself up!
Murray circles Curtis’ fallen body for a bit so he can catch a breather for himself. He grabs a handful of Curtis’ hair and attempts to pull him to an upright position. But from nowhere Curtis releases a burst of energy and sweeps the legs right from under Murray and follows up by mounting Murray and grabbing two handfuls of hair!
Hans Heinemann: An obvious desperation move there! He knew he was in trouble and had to take action!
Curtis continues to bounce Murray's head off the canvas to try and take away some of his momentum. Aaron Davies swiftly steps in and tries to break it up!
Aaron Davies: OKAY BREAK IT UP! One! Two! Three! Four! F-
Curtis raises his hands in the air just before the five count and steps away from Murray.
Miguel Rodriguez: Damn fool! Could have got his self disqualified!
Murray gets back to his feet and shakes off the cobwebs just as Curtis charges at Murray with a flying lariat! Murray falls flat on his back and Curtis quickly springs back to his feet and drops an elbow across the chest of Murray before making the cover.
ONE!
TWO!
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: You got to do more than that to beat a guy like Murray!
Curtis bounces off the ropes and drops a knee across Andy Murray’s face and it hits hard! Andy Murray clutches his face in pain and rolls over. Curtis doesn't give Murray any time to recover and brings Murray back to his feet. Murray rubs his head to try and regroup but Curtis carries on and executes a German suplex with sickening impact!
Hans Heinemann: A BEAUTIFUL MOVE!
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: Only because it’s...
Curtis holds on to the waist of Murray and delivers another pounding German suplex!
Hans Heinemann: GERMAN!
Miguel Rodriguez: Now Curtis go for cover! I think he got him now!
ONE!
TWO!
THREE!
Miguel Rodriguez: NO IT WAS TWO!
Aaron Davies holds up two fingers, as Andy Murray lifted his shoulder just before Davies hit the mat for the three! Curtis appears visibly disappointed and begins to contest Davies' decision by slapping his own hand three times.
DOOOOOBLINE DAVE~!: That kind of hot-headedness will cost him!
Murray slowly gets back to his feet at Curtis argues with Davies! The crowd cheer as The Scottish King of Cool walks over to an angry Curtis. Murray taps Curtis on the shoulder; he slowly turns round.
Hans Heinemann: He's going to get it now!
Murray puts his hand round the back of Curtis' head and thrusts his skull into his for a sickening headbutt. Curtis falls straight to the mat.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: BLOODY HELL I HEARD THAT!
Murray picks up Curtis to his feet and hoists him up for a military slam: he showcases his strength by holding Curtis over his head.
Miguel Rodriguez: Andy Murray is a very powerful man look at that!
DOOOOOBLINE DAVE~!: That's because he's the Scottish King of Cool!
Murray walks over to the ropes and throws Curtis over the top rope like a piece of rubbish, making a slapping sound as his body his the mat on the outside.
Miguel Rodriguez: That one was for William Wallace and all the times the English football team has spanked the Scottish football team!
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: Aren’t you –
ONE!
Miguel Rodriguez: One half Mexican one half Portuguese one half Spanish, yes?
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: So –
TWO!
Miguel Rodriguez: I live in England for eleven years, yes?
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: Ah. Potatoes.
THREE! Curtis lies on the outside in a foetal position holding on to his ribs. Murray steps out on to the apron and drops an elbow from the apron onto Curtis' ribs!
Hans Heinemann: Murray taking good note there of Curtis holding his sternum.
Davies starts the count again: ONE! TWO! Murray brings Curtis back up to his feet and applies an abdominal stretch. Curtis blurts out a huge scream in pain but Murray shows no mercy and starts to land some fists on Curtis' damaged ribs. THREE! FOUR! Curtis continues to scream in pain as Murray unleashes hell on his ribs. Murray finishes his attack and releases the hold. FIVE! SIX! Instead he grabs Curtis' arm and flings him full speed in to the steel ring steps, dismantling them as the noise of impact on metal reverberates through L'Astroballe.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: Curtis is FUCKED now!
Miguel Rodriguez: Can you say that?
Hans Heinemann: I’ve got the right... the right to censor! ~!~!~!
Heinemann does a little jib; DOOOOOBLIN and The Midget stare. Murray quickly rolls back in to the ring to break the 10-count and rolls back outside to continue his assault on Curtis' ribs. Murray drags him up and smacks him back down with a brutal sidewalk slam, continuing to work on the injured ribs of Curtis, as Davies wearily restarts the count for a third time. ONE!
Hans Heinemann: I think this match was over when Murray sent Curtis over the top!
TWO! Murray rolls back in to the ring leaving Curtis outside to struggle in pain. THREE! Murray stands in the ring smiling when suddenly a Furby comes flying out from the crowd?! Murray looks at it confused and bends over to pick it up!
CLICK~!
Andy Murray: ARGH MY BACK!
DOOBLINE DAVE~!: Murray's back just went when he went to pick up that... well what looks like a Furby?!
Miguel Rodriguez: BE CAREFUL! It could be one of Varga's characters!
Hans Heinemann: Pfft, Varga? HA!
Murray holds his back in pain and doesn't realize Curtis crawling back in to the ring behind him. Curtis crawls behind Murray and grabs his trousers and rolls him up!
Miguel Rodriguez: HE'S ROLLED HIM UP! THIS COULD BE OVER!
ONE!
TWO!
CLICK~!
Hans Heinemann: Murray kicks out and judging by that clicking sound it sounds like his back has clicked back in to place!
Andy Murray: Ah that's better!
Curtis is still on the canvas still in pain from his damaged ribs. Murray picks Curtis up –
Andy Murray: That's enough!
Murray sets Curtis up in a suplex position!
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: Here it comes! THE HIGHLAND HANGOVER!
Murray plants Curtis' head into the canvas and covers.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: POTATOES!
Miguel Rodriguez: He no even Irelandish.
ONE!
TWO!
THREE!
Miguel Rodriguez: Murray win!
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: That’s because he’s COOL!
Miguel Rodriguez: Yeah, I like Murray.
James Brunt: The winner... ANDY MURRAY!
Rallying The Troops
FEATURING: AWC
AUTHORS: MICHAEL DOHERTY AND LARA CLARKE
The scene cuts backstage to a large AWC locker room. Gathered here is what appears to be at least half of the AWC’s active superstars. Among the crowd are Crimson O’Malec, The Farmer, The Illustrious Face-Eater, Red Rock, The British Bomber, Andy Murray and Rainbow Flag. Some of the crowd are in their wrestling attire and are either fresh from matches or are preparing to compete in one. All of the crowd seem annoyed and are talking to each other in an atmosphere of suspicion. Certain wrestlers are avoiding others and many are throwing dirty looks at one another. About to address the crowd by the looks of it are Pierce Lavelle and Paddy O’Shea who are standing a few yards away from the crowd, both of whom are looking disgruntled at the ruckus unfolding in front of them.
Voice from the crowd: I’ll kill you chump of you don’t close that hold of yours… what’s that?… well let’s go then tough guy!
It’s clear to all that this bunch don’t exactly get on so Lavelle moves quickly to intervene.
Pierce Lavelle: Attention people! Hey! Be quiet would you!
The crowd begin to quieten down but there is still a murmur from the crowd as some now begin muttering their dislike of the AWC champion who is now speaking.
Pierce Lavelle: Now first of all, I’d like to thank you all for coming at such short notice but I’m sure you all appreciate the magnitude of the problem the AWC is now facing.
From the crowd of fifteen or so comes a unanimous sound of agreement and a few wrestlers can be seen to be nodding their head.
Pierce Lavelle: Last week, the AWC faced the biggest threat to its existence since its establishment: James Varga and his legion of wrestlers attacked us. They invaded the Fresh! main event and they beat down every wrestler that came down to face them. And why did people come down?
The crowd look at each other for an answer but they can’t seem to figure it out.
Pierce Lavelle: I’ll tell you why. Because we are the AWC and when someone attacks one of our own and especially on our turf, we fight back. James Varga’s men had no right to be at our show. His attack was unprovoked. And so we fought back. It didn’t matter that we were unsuccessful; at least we made some sort of stand against him.
The crowd begin to nod in agreement at this statement as Pierce Lavelle continues with a slightly more enthusiastic crowd.
Pierce Lavelle: Now, Varga is obviously trying to take our federation away from us and whatever way you look at it, everyone’s got something to lose. A job, a home, your livelihood. So we can’t let this happen… so what do we do?
Again the wrestlers look at each other and search for an answer they don’t get. After a few wisecrack answers, Lavelle answers it for them.
Pierce Lavelle: I’ll tell you what we do… we unite against them! Last week we came down in small pocket groups. We should have come down as one because only that way can we win. Unity is key. Few of us here are friends, I’ll admit that, but won’t you at least fight side by side when need be to make sure we can at least have the AWC to be enemies in?
Some of the crowd begin in cheer a little at this remark. Others seem a little bit wary still.
Voice in the crowd: Let’s go get Varga then!
At this point, Paddy O’Shea steps forward. He’s holding a sheet in his hand and looks very serious.
Paddy O'Shea: It’s no’ tha’ simple. Ye see, aye picked this up from a friend in the UWF the other day.
Paddy holds the sheet up for all to see.
Paddy O'Shea: This be a UWF statement tha’ contains a number of UWF wrestlers’ signatures. As ye kno’, Varga be a wrestler in the UWF. Well this statement shows the UWF’s backing o’ Varga. No’ only do we have Varga as an enemy, but we also have the UWF as well.
There is nervous whispering now being heard from the crowd.
Paddy O'Shea: The UWF see us as a good up and comin’ federation an’ they want t’ get rid o’ us before we get too big.
Now there seems to be anger amidst the crowd.
Paddy O'Shea: So wha’ do we do? Aye’ll tell ye wha’. We put our grudges aside when need be and we attack the UWF at their own show because it be only a matter o’ time before they try t’ get us!
Pierce Lavelle: So what do you say? Do we make a stand? Or do we let the UWF and James Varga walk all over us?
The crowd begin to cheer for Varga’s blood as the wrestlers begin to get hyped up. The Illustrious Face-Eater steps forward. He gives Lavelle a dirty look then turns to O’Shea, purposely ignoring the other.
Face-Eater: Yeah, are we getting paid for each lynching of a UWF wrestler?
Lavelle and O’Shea exchange confused looks.
Paddy O'Shea: Um… no.
Face-Eater: Bah! Forget this… kthxbye.
The Illustrious Face-Eater exits the room as the wrestlers express their discontent with this action.
Voice in the crowd: Hey! Red Rose is in UWF!
Everyone in the room suddenly turns around to look at Red Rock. The potential hostile situation had caused Red Rock to move to the back of the room and he seems very awkward.
Red Rock: Yeah… it’s, um, Red Rock not Red Rose... Red Rose sounds kinda... gay, which I am not. I'm not gay!
Paddy O'Shea: Are you in the UWF?
Red Rock smiles at the slowly advancing crowd waiting for the word they want to hear.
Red Rock: Well, um, yeah but I don’t know anything about any takeover. I’m completely neutral on this thing –
Voice in the crowd: Why are you here then?
Red Rock: Boolie said you guys were giving out free chicken caesar sandwiches!
The crowd begin to laugh at what they believe is a poor excuse of a lie. They then turn on Red Rock once again
Voice in the crowd: He’s a mole for the UWF! Let’s get ‘im!
Red Rock: Bugger...
Red Rock runs out of the room quickly just as the angry wrestlers grope air to grab him. The scene fades as Lavelle and O’Shea give each other worried glances.
Paddy O’Shea: We go’ ourselves a spy in our midst!
Injured vs Jailed vs Asshole
FEATURING: THE EDUCATOR
AUTHORS: KERRY RITTER AND PIERRE HYDE
“School of Hard Knocks” plays over the public announcement system as The Educator, Livewire title firmly around his waist and microphone in hand, steps onstage, the crowd booing. Educator laughs, seemingly thriving on the hatred of the fans.
The Educator: I expected no less, to be honest… I assumed that the French can’t recognize a TRUE champion, unlike that Pierce Lavelle.
The crowd boos.
The Educator: But I guess that’s France for you. I doubt most of you can even comprehend what I’m telling you, but I suppose I might as well get down to business…
Miguel Rodriguez: Down to business? What he talking ‘bout?
The Educator: You see, I have a special EXCLUSIVE announcement for you all this evening. Fans, at the next pay-per-view, The Battle Of Britain, I will defend my Livewire title…
Educator rubs the title belt.
The Educator: …against two men. I will face not only KRIS KRIMZON… but I will also face JONNY SAKE!
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: WHAT?! But they are both out of action!
Hans Heinemann: That’s right; Krimzon’s in hospital and Sake’s in a Malaga jail! But why does he want to face Sake anyway? Aren’t they friends or something?
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: Meh, I lose track.
Hearing Hans Heinemann’s comment, Educator turns his attention towards him.
The Educator: Ha! You sincerely believed I was in league with that oversized delinquent? No, no, Sake's been in my pocket the whole time, and now he's managed to get himself put in jail. Everyone, be SURE to take this in: it WILL be Kris Krimzon versus Jonny Sake versus The Educator at The Battle Of Britain. You’re going to see it, so you’d better order it now! And Pearl, you’d better not let these fans down...
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: What is he talking about?
Hans Heinemann: Ah, he's clever, see. If people order based on this match being advertised, and of course the match will never take place with Krimzon hospitalised and Sake jailed – then AWC is going to have to pay out a lot of money back in compensation!
Miguel Rodriguez: He is trying to get his revenge on Pearl!
Hans Heinemann: That could well be the case. We weren’t really sure who’d got the better of the deal when the exchange of the belts was made last week, but Pearl seemed like he had something up his sleeve... now The Educator has put the pressure on him.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: Why doesn’t he just... cancel it?
Hans Heinemann: I don’t know... Pearl’s not that sort of man. He doesn’t like to renege on something people are expecting –
Heinemann stops short with the spontaneous applause from behind the announcers’ table for the use of the word “renege” in France. He takes a bow.
Hans Heinemann: Why, thank you...
Miguel Rodriguez: Oh, look, Educator has left the ring. What a shame.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: Why did he go so suddenly?
Miguel Rodriguez: Maybe because whoever submitted this segment didn’t give it a proper ending!
Steven Xandrous (c) vs The Farmer
STIPULATION: WEAPONS
REFEREE: LARS LARSSON
AUTHOR: DAVE LARKIN
Hans Heinemann: What we’re about to witness is an embarrassment of epic proportions involving Steven Xandrous and The Farmer in a Relentless championship match. Who booked this match?
Miguel Rodriguez: Probably Pearl, you beeeg boy!
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: Hey, you said you’d call me that tonight!
Miguel Rodriguez: I did say that, didn’t I?
Hans Heinemann: One day I’ll go insane sitting here with you two.
Miguel Rodriguez: I’m surprised. Hearing out voices every week should be like music to your ears. (teasingly) Music…
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: Miggy, you’re one hell of a guy, you know that? POTATOES!
Hans Heinemann: …
Fortune, fame, mirror vain, but the MEMORY REMAINS!
The quote echoes throughout the arena as “The Memory Remains” by Metallica plays, keying the entrance of a mysterious grappler. The lights turn out to pitch black at the end of the quote, and when the lights turn back on, Steven Xandrous stands at the top of the entranceway; arms outstretched forming a cross with his body, his eyes staring forward into nowhere. His outstretched arms then sling inward towards himself as fire explodes from the sides of the entrance stage. Steven walks down to the ring, cracking his knuckles. He slides in the ring and outstretches his arms once more. His head, leaned forward, is pulled backwards and lies on the top of his back. Staring at the sky, more fire erupts. As the flames fade away, Xandrous awaits his opponent.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: Xandrous looking confident ahead of this match, huh? I bet some of his confidence came from drugs. It’s always drugs, you know.
Miguel Rodriguez: Nah, AWC superstars don’t do dem drugs, Dave!
Hans Heinemann: Speak properly, please. I’m German and I can speak English better than either of you.
Miguel Rodriguez: Not to repeat ourselves, but I’m Portuguese. Partly.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: And I’m Irish. POTATOES!
James Brunt: The following is a Weapons match and is for the Relentless championship! In the ring, weighing in at 190 pounds… he is the AWC Relentless champion… STEVEN XANDROUS!
There is a mixed reaction for Xandrous, who simply remains stoic in the ring with his championship resting over his shoulder.
Miguel Rodriguez: He looks pretty boring…
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: I was just thinking the same thing.
Hans Heinemann: He’s not here to entertain you! He’s here to win this match and retain his title.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: And to entertain us!
Suddenly, “Not Far Away” by Pennywise plays on the P.A. system and within a moment or two, The Farmer moves through the curtain, raising his arms to the crowd. The fans respond with nothing but applause for the kooky Irishman, who laps up the good reaction. The Farmer gathers some weapons from underneath the ring, and enters the ring with a mop in tow.
James Brunt: And his opponent, from Dowra, County Leitrim, weighing in at 233 pounds… “THE FARMER” MICKEY-FITZ MCCARTHY!
Xandrous goes to wrestle the mop from The Farmer, but to no avail. The strength of The Farmer overpowers Xandrous and he gets a mop in the head for his troubles. The bell rings to begin this Relentless championship match just as The Farmer begins to take control with right hands to the face.
Hans Heinemann: Must we watch this - this barbarian punch the daylights out of poor Xandrous?
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: That’s what we’re being paid to do, so yeah.
Miguel Rodriguez: The Farmer is really laying into him with those punches. Nothing technical about that!
The Farmer whips Xandrous off the ropes and bulldozes him down to the canvas with a shoulder block. Xandrous’ initial confidence is now all but gone. The Farmer lifts Xandrous up into a torture rack submission hold. Somehow, though, Xandrous wriggles his way out of it and lands on his feet behind The Farmer. Xandrous takes the big man down with a dropkick to the back of the knee.
Hans Heinemann: That’s what I’m talking about! Some actual wrestling for once.
Miguel Rodriguez: You whine a lot, Hans. Lighten up a bit. Ride the waves. Eat the nuts.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: We have nuts today?
Miguel Rodriguez: Yeah, they’re between my legs.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: Get them for me, will you?
Hans Heinemann: Oh my God…
Xandrous shows off some of his technical wizardry, delivering a set of hard knee drops to The Farmer’s head. The Farmer collapses to the mat below, but Xandrous’ efforts are soon thwarted as The Farmer powers his way back to his feet. The Farmer shoves Xandrous back into the ropes, and Xandrous bounces off only to receive a stunning power slam from the Irishman.
Hans Heinemann: The brutality…
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: But that’s The Farmer’s style, Hans!
Miguel Rodriguez: I think he meant this match Is brutal, Dave.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: The only thing that’s brutal around here is your body odour, Miggy.
The ring, shaken by the sheer power of The Farmer, doesn’t hold a candle to Xandrous’ current state. Xandrous lies prone on the mat like a pancake, his breathing assuring us that he has survived. The Farmer looks to capitalise on his powerful power slam with a leg drop, but Xandrous rolls away and out of the ring under the bottom rope to safety. Xandrous takes a few moments to rethink his strategy, then re-enters the ring with an air of caution about him. The Farmer runs at him, but Xandrous trips The Farmer, sending him into the second rope. Xandrous runs off the ropes on the opposite side of the ring and delivers a stiff knee to the lower back. The Farmer cries out in agony, and now all the fans are getting behind the Irishman.
Hans Heinemann: Brilliant! Absolutely brilliant from Steven Xandrous there. He’s an incredibly efficient in-ring performer.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: His style reminds me of Tim Shipley’s. Don’t you think? GUINNESS!
Miguel Rodriguez: Nah. Shipley’s style is his own and no one else’s. Xandrous’ style is what it is.
Hans Heinemann: You’re going off on a tangent now…
Xandrous, unfazed by the fans’ obvious support for The Farmer, simply continues the attack. Xandrous brings The Farmer down to the mat and even goes as far as to lock on a half Boston crab on the Irishman. This submission hold puts The Farmer right in the middle of the ring, the ropes too far away for even a man of his height to reach. The Farmer struggles valiantly, finally reaching the bottom rope after a struggle with the tenacious Xandrous. Xandrous, unrelenting in his assault, lifts The Farmer up and flattens him with a DDT.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: Oooh. That’s gonna hurt in the morning.
Miguel Rodriguez: Yep. He won’t be making love to his cow tonight, folks.
Hans Heinemann: How do you know he even does that, Miguel? Do you follow him home every night?
Miguel Rodriguez: Only after Fresh! each week. His habits are interesting.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: Ugh…
Xandrous looks to finish his opponent off, setting The Farmer up for the Homicidal Wreckage. The Farmer muscles out of the hold and lands behind Xandrous. The Farmer delivers a clubbing blow to the back of Xandrous’ head, then boots him right in the face, sending him over the top rope to the floor. The Farmer is in hot pursuit, and whips Xandrous into the steel ring steps to gain an advantage.
Hans Heinemann: Oh, this is a show of absolute cowardice from The Farmer. Why can’t the man outwrestle Xandrous?
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: Because he just can’t! POTATOES!
Miguel Rodriguez: Exactly. Sometimes in wrestling you have to utilise the things around you. Like, for example, my beeeg boy!
The Farmer lifts Xandrous up outside the ring, and delivers a menacing stalling brain buster right to the floor. The protective mats partially cushion the blow, but Xandrous is still screaming out in pain. The Farmer, now back in control, puts Xandrous back inside the ring. The Farmer lands a double foot stomp right on Xandrous’ stomach, then covers.
ONE!
TWO!
Xandrous kicks out, shaking his head as if to say “I’m not done yet.” The Farmer seems unfazed by this and simply lifts Xandrous up to his feet, ready to hit The Harvest. The Farmer runs off the ropes for the run-up, but the quickness of Xandrous beats The Farmer, taking him down with a rolling boston crab. The crowd applaud the champion’s quick thinking.
Hans Heinemann: Spectacular show of technical wrestling there. The Farmer runs at him for the clumsy clothesline, but Xandrous has it all worked out. Boston crab out of nowhere!
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: I think I just farted…
Miguel Rodriguez: Yep, you did. I know because your farts smell like potatoes. Mmm… get that smell, Hans?
Hans Heinemann: No. No, I do not.
The Farmer again struggles in the submission move, but somehow manages to reach the bottom rope. Finally, Xandrous decides to resort to weapons of some kind. Xandrous rolls out of the ring and checks under the apron for anything he could use. Xandrous removes a kendo stick and shows he can handle one by showing off some of his tricks. Xandrous re-enters the ring to deliver what could be the knockout shot to The Farmer, but the Irishman catches the kendo stick and breaks it in two over his leg.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: The Farmer has legs like tree trunks! Look how easily he broke that kendo stick.
Hans Heinemann: Kendo sticks are light, Dave. It’s simple to break them.
Miguel Rodriguez: I bet I could break one with my beeeeg boy!
The Farmer grabs a bewildered Xandrous around the neck and nails a vicious choke slam to the champion, flattening him on the canvas. The Farmer runs off the ropes and lands the tree trunk leg of his right across Xandrous’ throat. The Farmer goes into the cover.
ONE!
TWO!
Xandrous kicks out just in the nick of time. The Farmer’s frustration is beginning to build, and he stands up almost sure that this is his time to finish the champion off. The crowd will him on as his opponent, Xandrous, begins to wearily stand up. The Farmer whips Xandrous off the ropes and this time successfully hits The Harvest. The crowd come to their feet in ecstasy as The Farmer makes the cover.
Hans Heinemann: No! This oaf can’t win!
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: What if he does? You have a bet on Xandrous?
Miguel Rodriguez: No, but I do! Kick out, you piece of shit!
ONE!
TWO!
Xandrous somehow gets his shoulder up, and the crowd, already cheering as they are under the impression The Farmer has won, have to do a double take to realise that Xandrous is still in this match. The Farmer, dejected, lies back against the ropes, his mind racing trying to come up with a new strategy.
Hans Heinemann: You see, Xandrous is too difficult to beat for this oaf! He’ll need to use all his farming expertise to beat Xandrous!
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: I was once a farmer, you know. In the west of Ireland, all we do is waste time farming. I often ran off with me Guinness and partied, of course.
Miguel Rodriguez: Look! The Farmer’s turning into the Incredible Hulk!
The Farmer begins to show freakish strength as he lifts Xandrous above his head and goes to body slam him down to the mat below. However, Xandrous has his opponent scouted and wriggles around behind The Farmer, taking him down into a pinning attempt. The Farmer immediately kicks out, though, to the delight of the crowd.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: The Farmer showing he’s not just going to lay down and let Xandrous have his way.
Miguel Rodriguez: That sounded really bad…
Hans Heinemann: For someone with a sick mind like you, maybe.
Xandrous runs off the ropes only to take a massive power slam from The Farmer. The Farmer covers, looking for his first Relentless championship win.
ONE!
TWO!
Xandrous kicks out, but not at all convincingly. The Farmer lifts the weary and weakened Xandrous to his feet and sets him up for The Harvest. The Farmer begins his run-up, and just about reaches Xandrous, but Xandrous quickly mounts The Farmer onto his shoulders and delivers his finishing move, the Homicidal Wreckage.
Hans Heinemann: What a show of quickness that was!
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: Is this… it?
Miguel Rodriguez: Xandrous makes the cover!
ONE!
TWO!
THREE!
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: The Farmer has lost to a very capable Steven Xandrous tonight. POTATOES!
Miguel Rodriguez: Indeed. Oh well, not the end of the world.
Hans Heinemann: Excellent win for Xandrous. The man appears to be a little... weird, but he’s got a wealth of technical wrestling genius in him.
Xandrous takes his championship and leaves the ring, not giving The Farmer anytime to recuperate and find out what just happened to him. Xandrous heads up the ramp way with his championship draped over his shoulder. The fans give Xandrous a largely mixed reaction.
James Brunt: The winner, and still Relentless champion… STEVEN XANDROUS!
Let Go Of The Youthful Honesty
FEATURING: TIM SHIPLEY, THE ILLUSTRIOUS FACE-EATER
AUTHOR: JOE SCHMIDT
The scene opens with a curiously involved cameraman, rushing with camera shaking around in hot pursuit of another character walking steadily ahead of him. That man is the one AWC has dubbed as “Summer’s Son”, Tim Shipley. Now Tim may not have chosen that name himself, but he is willing to let it stick through the coming months. Not being much of a charismatic speaker, he’d give the fans any gimmick that might seem memorable, yet doesn’t compromise his character.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: He’s got a big match tonight, shouldn’t he be preparing.
Hans Heinemann: If the past few weeks is any indication, I don’t think Shipley can keep his focus on a wrestling match.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: Well where’s he heading off to? He should at least help his partner, Lavelle, out. He’s the one who seems to be taking on Shipley’s problems.
Miguel Rodriguez: Well how do you KNOW The Illustrious Face-Eater is the one that’s been stalking The Academy?
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: Because you’re so fucking tiny!
Hans Heinemann: Actually, Miguel, that’s a good question. And I think we’re about to find out!
The fans cheer as Tim Shipley is shown standing still, now in front of a dressing room with a label of ‘Face-Eater’ plastered across the front. The look on Tim’s face is one of uncertainty, but he convinces himself it is proper and finally brings himself to knock.
Before Shipley’s hand can hit the wood for a third knock, the door swings open abruptly, revealing The Illustrious Face-Eater who leans with his frame out of the door that swung inward, positioning him face-to-face, for the first time, with Tim Shipley.
Face-Eater: WHO DARES DISRUPT THE MANTRA OF MY DOMAIN?
Tim Shipley: I think you know, Face-Eater.
There is a short silence; enough for Facey to cock his head and examine Shipley clearly with both eyes. Through his mask, you can only imagine that he is thinking ‘This guy better have a fucking good explanation’, to which you’d expect Shipley to be thinking ‘I’ve got the only fucking explanation that matters!’ Drama: it’s so beautiful.
Tim Shipley: I’m Tim Ship –
Face-Eater: YOU ARE TIM SHIP... LEY.
Shipley gives The Illustrious Face-Eater what can only be described as the “EVIL EYE!”, as Facey widens the doorway.
Face-Eater: I advise that you ENTER.
Tim Shipley does so, cautiously mind you, slipping past the Face-Eater while keeping an eye on him at all times: he is wary of his actions of late.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: That Face-Eater is such a bad-ass! I heard he ate the cameraman’s face after that Lavelle incident, just because he didn’t turn the cameras off when Pierce showed up and “ruined his demograph”.
Miguel Rodriguez: Oh yeah? Well I heard that the Face-Eater was a heavy chain smoker. He would smoke three packs between meals every day. And then one day, when he was driving his car and smoking, the lit-cherry of his cigarette ashed off the butt, and landed on his leg, burning a hole in his favorite pair of pants.
Hans Heinemann: Yeah, so?
Miguel Rodriguez: He hasn’t smoked one single cigarette since, not one, not one! That is EIGHT YEARS AGO.
Now safely in the confines of his locker room, Face-Eater offers Shipley the chance to have a seat, which Shipley politely declines.
Tim Shipley: Listen, uh…
Face-Eater: YOU MAY ADDRESS ME AS THE ILLUSTRIOUS FACE-EATER, or the EATER OF FACES WHO IS THAT MUCH MORE ILLUSTRIOUS THAN I.
Shipley doesn’t let this rattle him. He came with a mission that he’s doing his best to stick to.
Tim Shipley: (swallowing hard) How about neither? Listen, I came to do this quickly, because frankly you – er – frighten me a little bit.
Face-Eater: I SHOULD.
Tim Shipley: I don’t know who you are, or if you are the guy that’s been bothering me lately. But you don’t know me, and if it is you... I’d appreciate it if you’d leave me alone. And please – just please stop disrespecting Tony Aliso like that. It’s not fair to his mem –
At this point, the Illustrious Face-Eater begins laughing profusely. Shipley is somewhat outraged, and appalled.
Tim Shipley: Look... what is your problem?
Face-Eater: I have seven problems, Tim Shipley, and you are FIVE OF THEM!
Tim Shipley: Listen, I just wanted to clear a few th –
Face-Eater: NO YOU LISTEN! YOU ARE IN MY DOMAIN! I have had to deal with these ridiculous connections that you seem to be making. Did you hire Helen Keller as your PI or something? Did that blind bitch dig up this sack of lies that you throw at me?
Tim Shipley: (loudly) What the hell are you talking about?
Face-Eater: I’m talking about you, Tim Shipley, and how you seek constant shelter and never tend to a bush with thorns. You’ve always been a pussy, well now a threat is facing you head on and you don’t know what to do about it. You think that this person is hiding from you? It’s so glaringly obvious, TIM SHIPLEY, that the only person hiding is you.
Shipley looks at the Face-Eater somewhat confused, obviously upset and not willing to listen anymore. As he begins to head out the door, Facey continues speaking.
Face-Eater: You’ll see. When your threat rears its ugly head, you’ll be shackled by your own fears. Mark my words!
Shipley shakes his head and shuts the door behind him as he exits, leaving Facey to scream to himself.
Face-Eater: MARK MY WORDS!
The Conversion (Attempt)
FEATURING: THE FURIOUS FISTS OF GOD, FANS
AUTHOR: SAM LANDRY
The scene starts off cutting immediately to the ring with Tim and Liam Martin of The Furious Fists of God in the ring. The both of them are wearing identical clothing. They don button down black shirts with a spread eagle on the back, green khakis, and steel toed boots. Liam is staring, twisting his neck, while Tim is clutching the mic. All the while the crowd is booing immensely.
Hans Heinemann: The Furious Fists of God are in the ring and the crowd does not like it.
Miguel Rodriguez: I no even see them come out… those sneaks!
Hans Heinemann: …it’s hard to see anything when you’re only staring at your crotch, Miguel.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: Why are we staring at Miggy’s crotch?
Miguel Rodriguez: I think we know why… it’s because…
Tim Martin: Booing will not make us go away, ok?!...
The crowd continues to boo.
Tim Martin: …you may all be sinners to the max. You may all be lazy slobs who sit around all day and live a sinner’s life. But I am not here to be your enemy…I am here to show you the power of the White Lord!
The crowd begins to boo incessantly, getting louder and louder. Tim shakes his head in disgust while looking down at the ground when, all of the sudden, Liam grabs the microphone from Tim.
Liam Martin: Listen, you ungrateful mutts, you’re booing the word of God! Do you not know how much of a sin that is? ARE YOU ASKING FOR THE FIERY FLAMES OF HELL TO BURN YOUR ASSES?!
The crowd boos louder and then start chanting “RACISTS! RACISTS! RACISTS! RACISTS!” Liam starts laughing when he hears this and chucks the microphone to Tim. Liam walks over to the ropes and starts laughing, moving his hands to the chant, when Tim gets back on the microphone.
Tim Martin: I’ll continue past this rudeness, oh don’t you worry. Tonight, we have something planned. We have spoken to God through hard work and faith, and we feel that we need to exhibit the power of God! We would ask for a few volunteers... particularly, non-Christian.
Liam Martin: (screaming loud enough for the microphone to pick it up) What? I’m not working with these dregs!
Tim Martin: Easy, Liam, EASY! I plan on converting these fools and bringing them into the arms of God! Remember, Liam, God loves all... who are Christian, White, and straight as a ruler. And isn’t that everyone who matters?
The crowd starts booing incredibly loud and the “RACISTS!” chants start again. Tim seems to ignore this and walks around the ring, looking into the crowd.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: What’s taking him so long? There are 5,600 people to choose from! He could just put all their names in a hat and pick one out! POTATOES!
Miguel Rodriguez: They waiting for this White Lord of theirs to tell them who to pick. Thing is, I know God love every race... hence my beeeeg boy.
Hans Heinemann: I’d actually rather hear about... your... um...
Miguel Rodriguez: Penis?
Hans Heinemann: Well… rather than these jackasses in the ring.
Tim Martin: Alright, ALRIGHT! I’ve found my three volunteers! Now, remember this… the Lord would not be happy if his voice was not obeyed… so when I tell you to come up… I expect FULL compliance or else… so, would you, you, and you come into the ring. Let them in!
Over the barricade and into the ring come three people. The first is a man in his 30s wearing a Hate t-shirt… your classic wrestling fan. The second is an attractive young lady, blond hair and the works, one of those “What is she doing here?” fans. The third is an old lady who requires help into the ring. While they’re standing there, Liam is facing the other way from them, his eyes bulging with anger and intensity.
Tim Martin: I won’t even bother with your names! Names are unimportant… we’re just going to forget them anyways because, to me and Liam, you are just a few God-hating fools who don’t deserve to walk on the same earth as us. Now, you, old hag… tell me, do you believe in the White Lord?
Hans Heinemann: These two young men show no respect for anyone!
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: R-E-S-P-E-C-T! FIND OUT WHAT IT MEANS TO ME! R-E-S-P-E-C-T! RESPECT! OOOO, SOCK-IT-TO-ME, SOCK-IT-TO-ME, SOCK-IT-TO-ME, SOCK-IT-TO-ME…
Hans Heinemann: ...
Old Hag: I love ze Lord, ze Lord loves me… I go to ze church every Sunday to do ze praying, and…
Out of nowhere, Liam turns around and runs full speed into the old hag and decks her with a full body check, sending her flying across the ring. The old hag is in a pile in the corner, knocked out cold and seems to not be breathing, Paramedics are immediately out there and pull her out of the ring. Liam is standing there, screaming as he flexes all the muscles on his torso amidst a flood of boos. Tim keeps a stern face and looks in the direction of the old hag, who is being strapped into a stretcher.
Tim Martin: Um… I am “zorry”, but it is “ze” WHITE Lord, not this scrubs-loving made up deity that you spoke so loosely about. Forget her, back to you two clowns. You speak English, I hope, not this French-English crap. Sorry to say it, but in America the s sounds like an s.
The crowd is now booing more than ever, everyone going crazy with anger. Liam walks back and remains looking away from the two, his eyes bulging with intensity. Tim walks close to the two remaining people in the ring, and peers in.
Tim Martin: Hello? I guess you don’t even speak English. I guess you can’t even hear the voice of God, can you? Wow… did I just pick the three most God fearing people in the ring? Did I…
BAM
Tim, in mid-sentence, takes the microphone and hits the man as hard as he can on the forehead, sending him over the ring and onto the mat. The girl tries to run away but Liam runs over to her and grabs her hair and pulls her to the middle of the ring. Liam then grabs the microphone from Tim and pulls the girl to her feet, still holding her hair.
Liam Martin: This is what happens when you do not believe in the White Lord! You become a leg-spreading whore who plays with the devil nightly! This is what will happen to you!
Liam drops the microphone on the ground and Irish-whips the girl towards Tim, who is starting to spin. The girl goes rocketing towards Tim who, as he turns towards the girl, throws a fist right into her face, flattening her and immediately opening a cut up in her face. Tim and Liam both stand over her and shake their heads amidst a deafening sea of boos. The two jump out of the ring and start heading backstage, not looking at anyone and still shaking their heads.
Hans Heinemann: What jerks! They totally obliterated three innocent individuals!
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: Maybe there was strategy in that… maybe he knew that the three of those were about to become big things in the wrestling world… GUINNESS… get trained by the best…
Miguel Rodriguez: I know something that already is quite big! Hans, you jealous of it?
Hans Heinemann: Oh, would you be quiet! AWC is on the brink of a lawsuit here! We can only hope they don’t end the show early!
Neck-st Time Metal Will Pay
FEATURING: AMY, HUGO AND CATARINA SILVEIRA
AUTHOR: DAVID "DJ" HEDLEY
The scene opens backstage, as it tends to do every week, in the locker room of Amy Silveira. Unlike many previous arenas which have had Amy in a derelict, poor dressing room, this one appears to be well-maintained with a lounge chair, two folding chairs, a table, two lockers and a more comfortable looking bed than normal. As the scene begins, Amy, Hugo and Catarina Silveira all sit in the room together talking, with Amy evidently ready and waiting for her up-and-coming re-match against Tim Shipley and Crimson O'Malec. Catarina is sitting in the lounge chair, Hugo on the side of the bed, and Amy on the table. Amy's blue eyes scan the room as she talks to Hugo, whereas Catarina remains silent, scanning Amy's slightly changed ring attire which now has a lighter blue pair of patterned jeans, and this week a black top saying "Rock chick" for some reason.
Amy Silveira: ...Anyway, the blonde looks down and says, "Oh no, not another breathalizer!"
Hugo and Amy start laughing a little at the end of the joke, whereas Catarina smiles a little discreetly, trying not to find them funny.
Amy Silveira: ...I love blonde jokes. Oh, by the way, that Farmer guy spoke to me today.
The slight smile on Hugo's face turns to a more serious look on the previous comment, and the tone of the room becomes less light-hearted.
Hugo Silveira: And? What did he say?
Despite Hugo's stern response, Amy replies in a more social manner.
Amy Silveira: Oh, nothing really... He just apologized about my neck and –
Hugo interrupts Amy in a more stern manner than previously.
Hugo Silveira: He what? He mentioned your neck?
Amy Silveira: Yeah? And he...
Hugo interrupts again.
Hugo Silveira: And he? And he what? And he laughed, he smiled, he grinned like a gypsy?
Hugo is clearly getting angrier, and whereas Catarina finds it slightly amusing, Amy is starting to look a little less light-hearted.
Amy Silveira: No, but his manager guy asked him to go somewhere after he finished screwing me...
Amy's comment is an attempt to lighten the conversation, but Hugo nearly explodes at it.
Hugo Silveira: He WHAT? First he ridicules you about your neck, and then wants to FUCK YOU? I'll... I'll...
Catarina starts laughing a bit.
Amy Silveira: No, I think Chris Metal was joking...
Hugo Silveira: You don't joke about people's necks. I knew he'd be back for trouble. I'll kill him.
Amy Silveira: Dad... all he done was ask about my neck...
Amy tries to calm her dad, but is looking slightly frustrated by now. Hugo stands up, shaking with anger.
Hugo Silveira: HE WAS TAKING THE PISS! Can't you see that? Can't you see that?
Amy moves her head back a little as he moves closer, shouting toward her.
Amy Silveira: Dad... chill out, all he did –
Hugo Silveira: All he did was disrespect my daughter! I warned him the first time...
Amy Silveira: Dad...
Hugo Silveira: But now he's took it too far! I'm going to get him...
Amy looks down sighing a little, not responding, and Hugo sits back down on the bed.
Hugo Silveira: That Irish scum dared speak to you even after I warned him off.
Amy sighs again, visibly frustrated, scratching her left hand with her right a little.
Hugo Silveira: He really must be an inconsiderate no-brainer.
Amy jumps up at this comment, sick of the talking-to, and she begins speaking in a raised and serious tone.
Amy Silveira: DAD! Why do you have to take EVERYTHING so seriously? Can someone not speak to me now wit – ahh, I'm not even going to bother.
Amy walks out of the room, and Hugo jumps up, still annoyed.
Hugo Silveira: Where are you going?!
Amy turns to respond, with her hands on her hips. Catarina smiles, unseen to both.
Amy Silveira: To wrestle my match.
Amy turns, walking off.
Hugo Silveira: Wait for me!... Amélia!
Amy Silveira: Fuck off dad.
The scene fades as Hugo collects his black jacket from the table, putting it on as he hurriedly follows her out of the room, the beat of the Prodigy's "Girls" kicking in as he does so.
Crimson O'Malec vs Tim Shipley vs Amy Silveira
STIPULATION: THREE WAY FURY
REFEREE: MICHAEL RYAN
AUTHOR: PIERRE HYDE
An AWC edited version of the Prodigy's "Girls" begins playing over the loud speakers, with the French crowd reacting in a loud and positive way for the theme of Amy Silveira.
James Brunt: The following is a Three Way Fury rematch, and is for the Frontier championship!
Imagine how it would be
To be at the top, making cash money
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: This is a rematch from last week’s main event, which was interrupted by James Varga’s uberinvasionofdoom!
Hans Heinemann: Yes, this is our second title match of the night; we saw The Farmer defeat Steven Xandrous for the Relentless championship just a few minutes ago...
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, Amy Silveira appears at the entrance without her father, looking slightly annoyed and frustrated about something, but still concentrated on the match as ever. She begins walking to the ring, and Hugo eventually appears at the entrance, performing a quick jog to catch up to her, soaking up the cheers as always as he does so.
Miguel Rodriguez: AMÉLIA! AMÉLIA! SOBRE AQUI!
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: Here comes AWC’s #1 female!
Hans Heinemann: I’d say that honour belongs to Ellis Nash...
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: That’s a load of potatoes. She lost to Xandrous, who lost to The Farmer... who is only the #3 Irishman in AWC!
Hans Heinemann: If you say so.
James Brunt: Introducing first, from Lisbon, Portugal, weighing in at 116 pounds and being accompanied to the ring by her father Hugo... AMY SILVEIRA!
Miguel Rodriguez: Vindo sugue em meu menino grande, Amélia! AMY! She Portuguese, you know...
Silveira 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.
Miguel Rodriguez: (becoming more frantic) Eu quero injetá-lo com meu líquido! Vem ajudar-me mudar meu nappy, você a cadela sexy! Se eu for mau, você pode espancar-me duramente! Não seja tímido!
Hans Heinemann: Babelfish –
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: I’m on it.
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: And her opponent, 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.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: It’s one half of The Academy, in his fifth match in AWC. I wonder how well he’ll be able to concentrate on this match, with one half of his mind focused on the problems he and Lavelle are having in their partnership...
Hans Heinemann: And the other half on Shipley’s recent torment at the hands of The Illustrious Face-Eater.
“O Fortuna”, the techno remix, hits and the popular, 5’3” Crimson O’Malec jogs down to the ring.
Hans Heinemann: We haven’t seen much of O’Malec lately...
Miguel Rodriguez: Foda-me lateralmente!
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: POTATOES! WHOOO!
Hans Heinemann: (sighing) Oh well.
James Brunt: Finally, from Daytona Beach, Florida, weighing in at 175 pounds... “The Poet” CRIMSON O’MALEC!
O’Malec slides into the ring and Senior Referee Michael Ryan steps between the three, restating the rules before the match can begin.
Hans Heinemann: Three very popular personalities facing off here, though one could argue that none of the three have really proven any ring skill yet...
The bell rings. Shipley stands off as Silveira goes straight to O’Malec and uses her four-inch height advantage to take a strong position in a grapple.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: I want to inject it with my liquid! You come to help me to change mine nappy, it dog sexy! If I will be bad, you I can spank me hardly! He is not shy!
Hans Heinemann: ...Babelfish?
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: Yep.
Hans Heinemann: Ah.
Miguel Rodriguez: That is not accurate.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: What did you really say, Miggy?
Miguel Rodriguez: I want to inj –
Hans Heinemann: I think we can work it out for ourselves instead, OK?
Silveira manoeuvres to the side and brings her bent leg up to snap-kick The Poet in the ribs. O’Malec goes to his hands and knees, winded by the unexpected blow, but Shipley now moves over to cautiously take hold of Silveira in a waistlock.
Miguel Rodriguez: Shipley is one lucky lucky dickface.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: I presume “dickface” is a friendly insult in Portugal?
Miguel Rodriguez: Oh, most certainly! It is considered quite an honour to have a “cara de penis”.
Hans Heinemann: Lovely... anyway, Shipley applies a hesitant waistlock and Silveira exploits his cautiousness, taking Shipley by the arm and rolling forward in a spur-of-the-moment takedown.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: Amy Silveira: the queen of impro.
O’Malec rises and throws his body forward with a dropkick to Silveira’s shins, taking her out.
Hans Heinemann: Ooh, Silveira’s face smashed against O’Malec’s knee there.
Miguel Rodriguez: NOOO! Amélia!
Hans Heinemann: She’s not that good-l –
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: YES SHE DAMN WELL IS!
Shipley and O’Malec rise to their feet.
Hans Heinemann: The tallest and heaviest in this match, Shipley will relish the opportunity to use some of the more powerful moves in his arsenal.
Shipley reaches over O’Malec with ease to turn him round into a side headlock. He holds this as Silveira rises, and fends her off with a shot to the jaw from his left boot.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: Shippers has learnt quickly not to feel sorry for the girls!
Miguel Rodriguez: Bully!
Hans Heinemann: No power in the kick though, and Silveira’s coming back...
Amy Silveira jumps high, thrusting out her legs in a straight dropkick to the face of the man AWC has christened “Summer’s Son”. Silveira falls flat on her back, but her bump is controlled and she can come straight up to grab O’Malec’s hair and plant his face to the mat with a bulldog variation as Shipley staggers backwards.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: Fast work by Silveira. Planned it on the spot and it all flowed perfectly. She’s a go-with-the-flow kind of girl.
Hans Heinemann: Is she now?
Miguel Rodriguez: She can go with my flow right now if she want...
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: I’m surprised we haven’t had any progress reports...
Miguel Rodriguez: Que?
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: Well you usually can’t go a minute without telling us the size of your b –
Hans Heinemann: BAGGAGE!
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: – and that’s without Amy Silveira in the ring to stimulate your b –
Hans Heinemann: BATHTUB!
Rodriguez stares at them both.
Miguel Rodriguez: Que?
Silveira runs at Shipley and leaps into the air, looking for a cross body block, but Shipley catches her, not allowing her meagre 116-pound frame to overcome his. Looking down on her slender body, he hasn’t the heart to attempt anything powerful, and instead lets her off with a weakly-executed backbreaker.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: Shippers, DUMP THE CHIVALRY!
Miguel Rodriguez: VARGA ALARM!
Hans Heinemann: Where?!
Miguel Rodriguez: Just kidding.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: Now now Miggy. Don’t you know the story of the boy who lived?
Miguel Rodriguez: Harry Potter?
DAVE~! slaps himself.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: The boy who cried wolf, I mean!
Miguel Rodriguez: MAGNUM WOLF?!
Hans Heinemann: Where?!
Miguel Rodriguez: Just kidding.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: Now now Miggy. Don’t you know the story of the – wait, we’ve done this.
O’Malec, wiping his mouth after the impact with the canvas, runs over to Shipley himself. The college student braces himself, but before he’s registered anything, Crimson has slid through his legs. O’Malec leaps up and grabs Shipley around the neck, lacing his legs around Shipley’s in an effort to hold on.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: Haha, he can’t reach from his standing position.
Miguel Rodriguez: Haha! Haha! He short, he short!
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: Miggy, you’re... shorter.
Silveira smiles as she sees the struggle going on – Shipley, blinded by an Irish-American arm across his face, staggers around as The Poet does all he can simply to hold on.
Hans Heinemann: O’Malec is choking the life out of Shipley with this supposed sleeper hold; surely there’s something illegal in it?
Before Michael Ryan’s inspection can get any further, though, Silveira suddenly springs off the adjacent turnbuckle and spins into a flying dropkick, high on O’Malec’s back! The sudden momentum change sends both men crashing to the mat, and Silveira immediately separates them before pinning O’Malec.
Hans Heinemann: SPOTTER!
Miguel Rodriguez: Amélia selects the weaker opponent to pin.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: Come on Crimson, kick out for the Irish!
ONE!
TWO!
O’Malec kicks out easily. Unperturbed, Silveira brings him to his feet, but before she can do any damage, Shipley takes over O’Malec and whips him into the ropes. Nodding quickly to Silveira, he brings his leg out parallel to the mat, and Silveira imitates him. A moment later, O’Malec runs into two boots; they connect with both his thighs and he flips over and lands flat on the mat with an ”OOH!” from the fans.
Miguel Rodriguez: Shippy and Amélia team up for a fantastic spot.
Hans Heinemann: The momentum carried O’Malec right over. He landed on his back – and now Shipley wants to pin, but Silveira is having none of it!
Shipley had tried to apply a cover focusing on keeping the shoulders down, but Silveira grabs him by the shoulder. When Shipley refuses to budge, she takes a handful of his hair and yanks him to his feet; Summer’s Son yells in pain.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: VICIOUS!
Hans Heinemann: When all else fails...
Miguel Rodriguez: Masticate!
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: Noooot quite.
Still holding the grimacing Tim Shipley by his blond-brown hair, Silveira now brings her right arm back and swings powerfully, hitting the kesagiri chop across his neck. With a yell, Shipley crumples to the mat, and Silveira hooks a leg.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: Kesagiri chop!
ONE!
O’Malec leaps into the air and breaks the pin with a senton splash, which has the simultaneous effect of stunning both opponents. Silveira rolls off Shipley and O’Malec backs up, before forward-flipping, both feet planted on Shipley’s abdomen, and using this to propel himself up into the air, spreading his body to land on Silveira with a splash.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: What a great move!
Miguel Rodriguez: Amélia herself would be proud.
This landing directly results in a cover, which Ryan counts at once.
ONE!
TWO!
Silveira kicks out.
Hans Heinemann: Two-count. Predictions to win?
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: It’s very even, and I think the fans would be happy with any one of these three as Frontier champ. Personally, though, I think my man Crimson can pull it out.
Miguel Rodriguez: No: Amélia for sure!
Hans Heinemann: That leaves me to support Tim Shipley, then... though he’s far too shy to actually ever be a success in wrestling.
Shipley has rolled to one side, curled up as he massages his stomach.
Hans Heinemann: Shipley wasn’t prepared for that impact from O’Malec’s two feet.
Silveira and O’Malec rise and O’Malec throws a hook kick at her upper thigh. Silveira absorbs the blow to spin into a reverse elbow, but O’Malec ducks it (helped by already being short) and cradles her body in his arms before launching her backwards with a back suplex!
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: Silveira hits the canvas hard.
Miguel Rodriguez: The one disadvantage to Amy being so lovely and slim... she easy to lift.
Hans Heinemann: That impact seems to have knocked the breath out of her.
O’Malec looks to pin, but Shipley, now on his feet, shakes his head at him and ties up. One hiptoss later, Shipley is the only one left standing, and he backs away to the ropes.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: Shippers catching a breather.
O’Malec stands – seeing Silveira on her knees, he offers a hand to help her up, and she takes his assistance with a grateful smile. The crowd goes mad with applause.
Miguel Rodriguez: It’s wonderful to see.
Hans Heinemann: Yeah, I agree; sometimes I feel sorry for the blind.
Shipley propels himself off the ropes and goes for a double clothesline, but both see him coming and instinctively duck. All three spin around at once; O’Malec, the fastest, boots Shipley in the gut, and he and Silveira take an arm each to execute a combined double-arm DDT.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: Good teamwork from Amy and Crimson.
O’Malec and Silveira exchange a few words, and then they race to the turnbuckles nearest the fallen Shipley. As they approach their respective top ropes, Shipley stirs, and the fans start to make some noise.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: What do they have planned? Oh, I can’t take the excitement –
Miguel Rodriguez: Oh, yes... oh yes... URGH... Miguel all wet.
Hans Heinemann: You’d better go and dry off backstage then.
Miguel Rodriguez: No, I stay, I stay! I want to see –
Shipley gets to his feet and is immediately met with two synchronised missile dropkicks to the chest – a strange grunt escapes him and he goes to the mat easily.
Miguel Rodriguez: That!
Hans Heinemann: Double dropkick to Shipley, who cannot take this double-team punishment.
Silveira appears slightly winded from the fall; The Poet pins Shipley.
ONE!
TWO!
THR-
Shipley gets a desperate arm up just in time. O’Malec, sighing, stands up, but Amy Silveira comes beneath him to take her own turn at covering Shipley.
ONE!
O’Malec stomps hard on her spine. Silveira turns to him, a venomous glare shooting into the eyes of The Poet.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: Looks like the end of that little pairing.
Shipley rolls slowly away towards a corner to recover, but he is forgotten as the focus is firmly on Amy Silveira and Crimson O’Malec in the ring’s centre. Silveira moves slowly to her feet, the piercing glare between the two never breaking. They just stand, three feet apart, ready for action.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: You could cut this atmosphere into tiny little pieces! And then... we’d die, because of lack of oxygen. And –
Hans Heinemann: It’s tense; shall we leave it there?
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: That’s true. I’m parched. Miggy... quench my thirst with Guinness!
Miguel Rodriguez: No can do, compadre, but if you like, I’m nearly ready to spurt ag –
Hans Heinemann: Will you pay attention?!
O’Malec lets his right arm dangle close to Silveira. Her eyes turn and watch its slow progress, no other body parts on either of them moving, as O’Malec swings it tantalisingly in and out of range. The third time, he goes a little further, and lays it gently on her shoulder. A little surprised, Silveira’s eyes flash and flicker to his. O’Malec grins and hits a perfect jawbreaker.
Miguel Rodriguez: PLAY FAIR!
Hans Heinemann: What did Silveira think was going on?
Miguel Rodriguez: Oh, no, NO! It all my fault! She was enraptured by the sensual vibes emanating from my ever-growing boy!
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: You don’t have a son, do you?
Heinemann sighs loudly. Shipley rushes at O’Malec, who turns to him only at the last moment and is unable to avoid the –
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: SPEAR!
Miguel Rodriguez: GORE!
Hans Heinemann: TAKEDOWN!
Call it what you will. O’Malec folds like the French army and Shipley doesn’t even stop, sprinting on through to the corner where he jumps onto the second turnbuckle, spinning 180 degrees so that he faces inward. One crowd-pleasing signal and one hundred camera flashes later, he is somersaulting into The Chi-Squared Drop!
Hans Heinemann: The Chi-Squared Drop! Somersault leg drop on O’Malec and Shipley has this won!
Tim Shipley hooks the leg.
ONE!
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: WATCH AMY!
TWO!
Miguel Rodriguez: FOOOOURRRTEEEEEEEEEN INCHES!
THR-
Elbow drop by Silveira! Shipley’s back stiffens and he rolls away in discomfort.
Hans Heinemann: Silveira breaks the pinfall!
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: We’re still going here! Half the crowd in the Astroballe think it’s over!
Silveira drags O’Malec to his feet and jumps into action with the White Lightning!
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: Crimson falls like – like city walls!
Silveira leaps the ropes and finds her feet on the top perch. A second later, she launches herself off the turnbuckle with the Torcendo moonsault – but Shipley drags O’Malec out of the way! Silveira hits the mat hard and doesn’t move.
Miguel Rodriguez: TORCENDO! TORC – NO!
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: She missed!
Hans Heinemann: Shipley pulled O’Malec away! And now he’s up, in the corner –
Shipley knees The Poet in the gut and leads him towards the turnbuckle. He grabs the top rope and flips himself up, pushing off first O’Malec’s lower back, then the turnbuckle itself with his feet as he moves through the sequence, now finishing off by scoring the flipping DDT!
Hans Heinemann: ETERNAL HOPE!
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: DDT with bite!
Hans Heinemann: Shipley is the champion!
His cheeks flushed, Shipley quickly hooks the leg of O’Malec.
Miguel Rodriguez: Come on Amy!
ONE!
TWO!
THREE!
Hans Heinemann: THREE!
Miguel Rodriguez: THREE!
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: POTATOES!
Shipley stands with a huge grin forming on his face.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: We have a new Frontier champion – in fact, our FIRST in AWC’s existence.
Hans Heinemann: You’re forgetting The Educator –
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: That title reign was unofficial!
Miguel Rodriguez: Yeah. He stole the belt. In AWC you have to earn it – like Amy did tonight! Shippy does not deserve that win!
Hans Heinemann: Well he’s the only one still standing...
Indeed, as James Brunt raises Shipley’s arm, Silveira and O’Malec are still motionless on the mat.
James Brunt: The winner... and new Frontier champion... TIM SHIPLEY!
Shipley is given his belt, which he enthusiastically buckles around his waist as the cheers of over 5,000 fans keep him buoyant in this match’s aftermath.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: Are they hurt?
Indeed, the crowd’s focus now begins to shift to the fallen. Shipley, a look of concern now crossing his face, kneels down next to Amy Silveira and pats her cautiously on her slender, tanned back. With a bit of effort, she brings her head off the mat.
Hans Heinemann: She’s looking a little white...
Miguel Rodriguez: NO! MY AMÉLIA! WHAT HAVE THEY DONE TO YOU?!
Rodriguez breaks free of DAVE~!’s restraining arms and catapults himself into the ring, charging over to Silveira in despair.
Hans Heinemann: I think she’s fine, just shocked.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: It looks like she said ‘I’m OK’ to Shipley.
It seems this is a correct assumption, as Shipley now nods and moves away from Silveira to check on his other opponent, Crimson O’Malec. He, however, seems far worse for wear, not reacting when Shipley repeats the gesture he used for Silveira, a pat on the back.
Hans Heinemann: Oh dear. It looks like taking that Eternal Hope wasn’t all that smooth for O’Malec.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: It’s dangerous, we know that. It’s a vertical DDT – head slamming into the mat – worse than a piledriver, perhaps.
Hans Heinemann: Let us hope this is not serious.
O’Malec now lifts his head off the canvas.
Hans Heinemann: Ah! He can move his neck at least. That’s a good sign –
Shipley helps The Poet to his feet and shakes his hand, O’Malec nodding to say that Shipley did a good job.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: And that’s a better sign!
National Pride
FEATURING: DAVID "PEARL" HARBER, MIKE WADE, THE BRITISH BOMBER, ANDY MURRAY
AUTHOR: ANDY MURRAY
We suddenly cut to the backstage cafeteria area, where we find a group of backstage workers queuing up for something to eat, engaged in conversation with AWC owner David “Pearl” Harber. More notably, “His Swerviness” Mike Wade sits alone at a table, enjoying a few moments of solitude as he takes a bite out of a big, shiny red apple. Wade’s peace does not seem to last long, however, as soon enough The British Bomber wanders in clutching a bottle of water, and pulls up a seat opposite Wade.
Mike Wade: What is it, Bomber?
Bomber: Nothing, just figured you might want some company.
Wade seems to ignore this, as he takes another large bite out of the fruit.
Bomber: Sooo, what do you think of this Battle Of Britain pay-per-view coming up? Straight from Earl’s Court, London! Damn, it’s already sending shivers down my spine just thinking about being back wrestling in my home country!
Mike swallows, so he can speak.
Mike Wade: Yeah, I suppose it’ll be pretty good…
Bomber: Pretty good? It’ll rock… and what better place to hold such a prestigious event than England’s green and pleasant lands?
Mike Wade: Green and pleasant? They only thing pleasant about London is the roads leading out of it.
Bomber: Pfft, whatever. Come on, one think you can’t deny is the greatness of the English people! There’s nowhere else in the world that’ll make you feel more welcome, more at home…
Wade raises an eyebrow.
Mike Wade: What are you talking about? England isn’t worthy of spit-shining Ireland’s proverbial boots, anyway. Yeah, we’ve got the nice countryside and all that, but you’ve never had a night out until you’ve had an Irish night out! Clearly, Ireland is Britain’s premier country. Besides, the English are thick-skulled and stupid, they seem to think they own Britain…
Bomber, slightly agitated, attempts to respond to Wade, but before he can he is interrupted by “The Scottish King of Cool,” Andy Murray.
Andy Murray: I’m sorry, did I hear you goofballs correctly?! Are you debating the greatest country in Britain, without taking SCOTLAND into account? By Christ, what are you playing at?
Bomber: Doesn’t Scotland have a higher sheep population than people?
Andy Murray: What the hell? Shut up, Englandboy… you can’t even beat us at football anymore… remind me of the score last time we clashed? 1-0! Don Hutchison, baby!
Bomber shakes his head; behind the arguing trio, we see Harber starting to take notice.
Mike Wade: If you’re trying to make Scotland out as being the top country, why the hell are you using that ramshackle collection of postmen and milkmen you guys call a “football team” as an example?
Andy Murray: Now listen here you leper –
As Andy raises his voice, Harber suddenly leaps over, interrupting proceedings.
Pearl: Whoa whoa whoa! Chill out, guys, what’s all the commotion about?
Bomber: These Celtic cretins are trying to tell me that Scotland and Ireland are greater than England… I do admit, Scotland and Ireland are pretty cool, but come on!
Andy Murray: Can it, Brummie slime.
Bomber gets up from his chair, glaring Murray in the eyes.
Bomber: One more word from you Murray and I swear I’ll wipe that goofy grin right off your face…
Mike Wade: Oh shut the hell up, you couple of girls…
Pearl: Okay! Calm down… well, it seems like there’s a lot of tension between you guys, right?
Andy Murray: Damn straight…
Pearl: Well, arguing in a freaking cafeteria isn’t going to get you anywhere. So, I’m thinking, August 19th, at The Battle Of Britain, we have a “Best Of British” contest. It’ll be The British Bomber representing England, Andy Murray representing Scotland, Mike Wade representing Ireland... that’s it, right? Oh, and anyone that you guys can dig up with Welsh blood, representing Wales. How does that sound?
Smiles crawl across the faces of all three men.
Mike Wade: It’s a done deal!
Bomber: No problem, boss…
Pearl: Alright, done! I suggest you guys go find yourself a Welshman, you haven’t got long!
Pierce Lavelle vs The Illustrious Face-Eater
STIPULATION: SINGLES
REFEREE: AARON DAVIES
AUTHOR: LARA CLARKE (WITH INPUT FROM PIERRE HYDE AND JOE SCHMIDT)
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: We’ve come to the main event.
Miguel Rodriguez: I have been looking forward to zis match since last week!
Hans Heinemann: Yes, our champion will be here tonight. But The Illustrious Face-Eater has proven to be a worthy opponent.
James Brunt slides into the ring and fixes the tails of his suit jacket.
James Brunt: The following is a non-title, singles match.
“Welcome Home” by Coheed & Cambria hits the sound system. The fans around the arena stand on their feet to welcome the challenger. The Illustrious Face-Eater appears on stage, dressed in his ring attire with his infamous mask on.
James Brunt: Introducing first, from Utah... THE ILLUSTRIOUS FACE-EATER!
The Illustrious Face-Eater gets a heavily negative reaction as he strolls down to the ring, pyrotechnics exploding into the air behind him. He finally makes it to the ring, and slides in, ignoring Brunt and referee Aaron Davies.
Hans Heinemann: Such disrespect. I’m going to have to talk to Pearl about our so-called fans.
Miguel Rodriguez: (whispering) Somebody slip him a Valium.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: Val Kilmer! Where?
Miguel Rodriguez: …
“Stockholm Syndrome” by Muse blasts out of the speakers. Smoke lines the black curtains and slowly drifts down the ramp. Pierce Lavelle enters the arena, to an eruption of cheers from the surrounding fans. His title belt is slung over his shoulder.
James Brunt: And his opponent, from Harrisburg, Pennsylvania, weighing in at 245 pounds... the Transatlantic champion, PIERCE LAVELLE!
Pierce Lavelle slides into the ring and hands his title to match official, Aaron Davies. Face-Eater is stood outside the ring, leaning against the steps. James Brunt slides under the first rope and takes a seat near to the commentators.
Miguel Rodriguez: Pierce Lavelle and Face-Eater now about to kick things off.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: Ooohhh, I can’t wait for this to begin.
Hans Heinemann: I wonder whether Lavelle and Shipley sorted their differences out.
Miguel Rodriguez: Ehh... I was too busy mas – at mass! Yes! I went to mass!
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: Spoken like a true Irishman.
Miguel Rodriguez: No, true Irishmen say “GUINNESS! POTATOES! DOOOOBLIN~!”
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: We do NOT! Potatoes.
The bell rings. Lavelle and Face-Eater jump into a tie-up. Lavelle takes control and drives Face-Eater backwards. Lavelle suddenly turns his momentum and lunges Face-Eater against the ropes with an Irish whip. Face-Eater comes off the ropes quickly, and Lavelle goes for a belly-to-belly, Face-Eater reverses and connects with his own one, sending Lavelle halfway across the ring. Both men are straight onto their feet, undeterred by the opening moves. Lavelle smiles at the “LAVELLE!” chants and both men tie up again.
Miguel Rodriguez: Ze quick start from ze men.
Hans Heinemann: Where has your drunk friend gone?
Miguel Rodriguez: There was something about Gabby or was it Cabbie? I no sure.
Face-Eater has suddenly taken the momentum and charges Lavelle into the corner. Face-Eater begins a series of chops to the chest. The fans chant “woo” at each chop. Lavelle reels back in pain, his chest growing a crimson red with each slap.
Hans Heinemann: Some fast paced chops from The Illustrious Face-Eater.
Miguel Rodriguez: Woooooo~!
Lavelle grabs Face-Eater’s mask and spins him into the corner, and begins his own series of chops. The fans continue to “woo”, surprised by the quickness of each man. The chops go back and forth until referee Aaron Davies jumps in and breaks it up.
Miguel Rodriguez: That was fun.
Hans Heinemann: Yes!
Miguel Rodriguez: My beeg boy liked –
Hans Heinemann: ENOUGH~!
Face-Eater suddenly lunges and catches Lavelle in a diamond cutter. Lavelle crashes face first to the mat. Face-Eater rolls him over and goes for the pin.
ONE!
TW-
Lavelle kicks out just on the two count. Face-Eater ignores the referee and stands up, waiting for Lavelle to regain his own balance.
Hans Heinemann: First pin of the match.
Miguel Rodriguez: Quick kick from the champion.
Hans Heinemann: No, that’s a kick-out, Miguel.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: What’d I miss?
Hans Heinemann: Oh, you’re back! GREAT!
Miguel Rodriguez: Did you find Gabby?
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: Who? Oh, no, my prize potato fell out of this ‘ere bag.
Hans Heinemann: And you called it Gabby?
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: Of course not! Paddy!
Hans Heinemann: (shaking his head) Hmm.
Lavelle is now on his feet. Face-Eater grabs him from behind and tries for a backbreaker. Lavelle reverses and delivers a DDT to Face-Eater. The fans are now on their feet again. Lavelle goes for his own pin.
ONE!
TW-
Face-Eater kicks-out and shoves Lavelle off of him. Lavelle stands up quick enough and waits. Face-Eater and Lavelle tie up once more. Face-Eater drives Lavelle backwards. Lavelle turns it around and swings Face-Eater against the ropes, and catches Face-Eater in a flapjack. Face-Eater is launched into the air and lands flat-out on the mat.
Miguel Rodriguez: What a move! That was brilliant.
Hans Heinemann: Will you put that away!
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: Don’t insult my potatoes.
Lavelle charges toward the turnbuckle and begins to climb the ropes. Lavelle jumps up, and turns his body around on the third rope, his back facing Face-Eater. The fans are on their feet, waiting in anticipation for some high risk manoeuvre from the champion. Lavelle looks around: Face-Eater is beginning to stir.
Miguel Rodriguez: Lavelle ees known for ’is risky moves. I wonder what he plans on doing.
Hans Heinemann: Looks like a moonsault.
Miguel Rodriguez: I favour the twisting high sky presssaultgurirana.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: Lovely.
All of sudden Face-Eater is up and charges at Lavelle; he jumps onto the second rope and grabs Lavelle into a German suplex and delivers it off the second rope! Lavelle is propelled into the air, his upper back and neck hitting the mat. Lavelle rolls around in pain and then falls to the outside. Face-Eater isn’t moving either.
Miguel Rodriguez: Holy crap!
Hans Heinemann: What a move… stunning German suplex brilliantly performed by The Illustrious Face-Eater.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: (clearing his throat) “Ode to Potatoes”. Oh, POTATOES. My little potatoes. I’ll drink up on Guinness and you’ll ripen to accompany my beer in my belly.
Lavelle lies motionless on the outside. Face-Eater is being tended to by ring official, Aaron Davies. The fans lean their hands over the sides of the barricades, in a desperate attempt to raise the champion from his slumber.
Miguel Rodriguez: Pierce Lavelle on the outside, in pain.
Lavelle using the ring apron to stand as pulls his upper body into the ring, breaking referee Aaron Davies’ count. Lavelle and Face-Eater tie up once more. Lavelle is on the attack now, and delivers some quick lefts and rights. Face-Eater looks around and grabs Lavelle in a vicious bear hug. He shakes Lavelle vigorously.
Miguel Rodriguez: He looks like a wine bottle, about to go POP!
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: A Guinness bottle, I think you mean.
Hans Heinemann: I thought real drunkards only took draught?
Miguel Rodriguez: Amigos! Come on Lavelle.
Lavelle slaps the temples of Face-Eater in a desperate attempt to break the bear hug and it works. Face-Eater drops Lavelle, who lands on his feet and takes Face-Eater down with a hellacious clothesline from hell. Face-Eater’s body distorts on impact, his neck crashing to the mat first. Lavelle rolls backwards and pins Face-Eater.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: There is only one word to describe that clothesline.
Hans Heinemann: POTATOES?
ONE!
TWO!
THR-
Face-Eater just manages to kick out. Lavelle leans back on the first rope to relax. The fans are still on their feet.
Miguel Rodriguez: Close call for The Illustrious.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: I like the belly clap.
Hans Heinemann: He’s smarter than he looks. Which totally contradicts his seemingly entirely random speech...?
Miguel Rodriguez: Now, do you see why they hired him?
Hans Heinemann: No...
Face-Eater rubs the back of his neck. Lavelle and Face-Eater meet eye to eye and then lock arms again. Face-Eater clubs Lavelle in the gut with a sharp knee and then delivers an uppercut, clipping Lavelle’s jaw. Blood drips down from Lavelle’s lip.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: Ouch, he bit his tongue.
Miguel Rodriguez: Definitely not my favourite of punchkick moves.
Face-Eater then charges at Lavelle, trying to deliver a flying lariat. Lavelle ducks, last moment, sending Face-Eater rolling under the bottom rope and crashing to the outside. Lavelle turns around, gazes at the cameras flashing away. He wipes his mouth and then lunges off the top rope, hitting Face-Eater with a dragon corkscrew moonsault!
Miguel Rodriguez: (standing) Whoa, replay, replay!
Hans Heinemann: Lavelle’s occasional bursts of athleticism are...
Miguel Rodriguez: STIMULATING!
ONE!
Hans Heinemann: Totally illogical.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: Was that a compliment Hans?
Hans Heinemann: Did it sound like one?
TWO!
Face-Eater is leaning against the barricade. Lavelle struggles to stand and makes his way over to the ringpost for leverage. Face-Eater looks at Lavelle and begins to move. Face-Eater throws a punch, misses Lavelle and hits the ringpost.
THREE!
Lavelle charges at Face-Eater with a spear, ramming Face-Eater backwards and into the steel steps.
FOUR!
A loud clatter is heard; Lavelle’s drive unhinges the steps. Face-Eater lies, in an awkward position over the separated steps. Lavelle slides into the ring, and checks on his bloody tongue and lip. Face-Eater gazes around. Referee Aaron Davies continues the count, as Face-Eater slumps off the steps and rolls onto the mats on the outside. The fans are cheering.
FIVE!
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: Pierce knows that ringside environment very well.
SIX! SEVEN!
Hans Heinemann: But not, of course, as well as David knows his potato patch.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: NEVER!
Face-Eater slides into the ring on 9. A sigh of relief is heard from Hans Heinemann at the commentators’ table. Lavelle smiles at the resilience of Face-Eater. He offers a hand out of sportsmanship. Face-Eater swipes it away and delivers a cheap thumb to the eye. Pierce Lavelle shakes his head; Face-Eater catches him in a capture suplex and hits it in one. Lavelle reels in pain, and puts one foot on the lower rope.
Miguel Rodriguez: Clever move from Lavelle – putting his foot on the rope, before Face-Eater got to him.
Hans Heinemann: I haven’t seen a capture suplex in a long time.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: Damn, I swear that vendor is ignoring me.
Hans Heinemann: ESSEN, ESSEN, ESSEN, DU DENKST DAS IST SO WICHTIG. DU BIST EIN IDIOT!
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: Dun do bhéal!
Miguel Rodriguez: Whoa, Hans, reeelax, reeelax!
Face-Eater kicks Lavelle’s foot off the rope; he hits the shin. Lavelle pulls back and crawls on all fours. He quickly turns and grabs Face-Eater into a fireman’s carry, pulling him into an STF. Face-Eater searches for a quick escape, but the ropes are some distance away.
The fans are now, once again, on their feet cheering “LAVELLE!”. Face-Eater crawls, with his last bit of adrenaline, it seems, and grabs the bottom rope. Lavelle lets go, obeying the rules. Lavelle stands up and the cameras flash.
Hans Heinemann: An escape from Face-Eater – an impressive one. Lavelle displaying poor knowledge of the STF...
Miguel Rodriguez: Look at all the camera flashes.
Hans Heinemann: (sarcastically) Pretty aren’t they.
Lavelle looks around, gazing at the fallen Face-Eater. Lavelle waits patiently. Face-Eater rises and turns to Lavelle; Lavelle quickly hits Blackout. Face-Eater, dazed, grabs his stomach for no apparent reason. Lavelle shoves Face-Eater’s head under his legs, and grabs him around the waist to set-up his finisher, Whiplash.
Miguel Rodriguez: Damn, he quick. Lavelle hit Blackout and set up Whiplash. This be it for The Illustrious Face-Eater.
Hans Heinemann: I wish to see this move, sit down.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: Erm, Hans, he’s like two feet tall. Hardly blocking your view.
Lavelle hoists Face-Eater into the air – Face-Eater suddenly punches Lavelle in the face, delivering blow after blow. Lavelle wobbles backwards, and falls. Face-Eater is sent flying and lands on the ropes in a guillotine-type move; he lunges backwards and crashes next to Lavelle. Lavelle, shaking off the cobwebs, pins Face-Eater.
Hans Heinemann: The Eater escapes Whiplash, but he’s still being pinned!
ONE!
TWO!
Face-Eater kicks-out just before the three count. Lavelle gets up. The fans continue to cheer Lavelle as he leans against the ropes and charges at Face-Eater, sending a knee into Face-Eater’s sternum. Face-Eater rolls onto his back, and Lavelle jumps off the second rope, and hits Face-Eater with a moonsault.
Miguel Rodriguez: Our champion like his high-fly.
Hans Heinemann: I must admit, I am impressed by these two athletes.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: Moonsault from Lavelle and the pin.
ONE!
TWO!
Face-Eater kicks out again. Lavelle is thrown off as Face-Eater gains a sudden surge of energy, he flips himself into a standing position and takes Lavelle down.
Miguel Rodriguez: Not one, not two, but three clotheslines.
Lavelle, a little rattled, struggles to stand. Face-Eater charges and grabs Lavelle into a German suplex, connecting it perfectly and delivers three consecutive suplexes.
Hans Heinemann: It’s all-out warfare in that ring.
Miguel Rodriguez: The trademark, três suplex Alemão.
Face-Eater decides against pinning and quickly rolls Lavelle onto his front. Face-Eater straddles Lavelle’s back and pulls on Lavelle in an unorthodox submission.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: He’s ripping Lavelle’s cheeks with his fingers! As if Lavelle were... a fish he’d just caught.
Hans Heinemann: Hmm, how unique! I can’t think to what or whom this HUGE, HUGE reference could be!
Lavelle’s eyes show clear determination, his cheeks widening with every pull from Face-Eater. Lavelle lets out a roar, which echoes around the arena. The fans begin to stomp their feet, cheering and booing in a desperate attempt to give the champion some courage. Lavelle raises his hand, as though he’s about to tap, but resists and using his arms, desperately tries to pull his body and Face-Eater nearer to the ropes. Face-Eater tugs harder and wraps one arm around his neck, depriving Lavelle of oxygen.
Miguel Rodriguez: His face turning blue.
Hans Heinemann: This is violent! Should this be shown at this hour?
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: Hans, it’s nearly midnight.
Hans Heinemann: Pah! These silly America-friendly schedules!
Referee Aaron Davies grabs Lavelle’s arm, and raises it. It falls.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: That’s one!
Davies grabs Lavelle’s arm a second time, raises it and it falls.
Miguel Rodriguez: That’s two.
Hans Heinemann: Thank you for the analysis.
Referee Aaron Davies attempts the third, but Lavelle’s body looks as though it’s having an epileptic fit, his limbs flying all over the place. Face-Eater struggles to keep a hold. Lavelle gasps for air and begins to pull his body faster and faster toward the ropes.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: Look at the strength of the Pennsylvanian.
Miguel Rodriguez: That was a close call for Lavelle.
Hans Heinemann: Too close.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: He’s been in this hold so long, though...
Lavelle reaches the ropes, but Face-Eater doesn’t let go. Lavelle grabs onto two of them now, stretching his right hand, and then with his free hand tries to punch Face-Eater off of him. Aaron Davies grabs the back of Face-Eater, but Face-Eater suddenly releases one hand and clips Davies right in the temple. Davies falls to the mat and Face-Eater returns to putting pressure on the champion.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: Damn, let go, you cheat. Let go!
Hans Heinemann: Lavelle is looking terrible for wear.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: He’s got to stop!
Miguel Rodriguez: He could keel Pierce Lavelle.
The fans erupt into a cacophony of cheers as Tim Shipley comes charging down the ramp. He slowly approaches the ring with some caution, watching The Illustrious Face-Eater closely.
Miguel Rodriguez: Finally some help. Tim Shipley is going to save his friend and partner, Lavelle.
Shipley grabs a folding chair and leaps onto the apron.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: Wait, what is Face-Eater doing?
Face-Eater turns Lavelle’s body around, slowly, so that it is facing Shipley. Face-Eater gradually, leisurely, unhurriedly changes his hold and grabs Lavelle’s face once more, applying a sort of cross face and STF combination. Lavelle roars in pain.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: OH MY GOD! IT’S TONY ALISO’S FINISHER! Face-Eater is using the BREAKING POINT!
The fans are booing loudly at Face-Eater’s disrespectful use of the dead man’s trademark, a clear taunt at his former good friend Shipley.
Miguel Rodriguez: Why is he using the Breaking Point? Lavelle can’t take any more punishment.
Hans Heinemann: I think its all part of Face-Eater’s mind games. Remember the photograph of Aliso, with the magic marker? Remember the old match on video tape, playing to the empty room? Everything is falling into place...
Tim Shipley is frozen on the apron, his face a horrible shade of grey. Lavelle reaches with his free hand and roars, his eyes pleading.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: Lavelle wants help, Lavelle needs help!
Hans Heinemann: Shipley cannot move! He is transfixed!
Shipley stays frozen, the chair dangling by his thigh.
Miguel Rodriguez: What are you doing Shippy? Lavelle in PAIN!
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: Somebody stop this punishment.
Hans Heinemann: What is going on?
Lavelle’s body falls limp and Face-Eater lets go. Aaron Davies slides into the ring, but Face-Eater knocks him away once more. Face-Eater approaches the frozen Shipley and stares at him. Both eyes meet. Shipley has a look of terror on his face, his skin colour paler than usual. Face-Eater looks around at the fans, who are chucking insults at him, deeply disapproving of the use of a dead man’s legacy to grab heat. He pulls out a microphone.
Face-Eater: You didn’t stop me!
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: Hmmm, some answers.
Shipley mutters something at Face-Eater, but it is barely intelligible.
Face-Eater: WHAT?
Tim Shipley: I said –
Face-Eater: WHAT?!
Face-Eater throws the microphone away, looks once more at the fallen Lavelle, and darts out of the ring and over the barricade into the surrounding crowd, looking for the nearest exit.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: Where is he going?
Miguel Rodriguez: I tell you one thing, this match is OVER!
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: Deader than a dead donkey.
Hans Heinemann: Lavelle looks the same – oh!
Lavelle, to great cheering, begins to rise in the ring. Shipley climbs into the ring and attempts to help Lavelle. But Lavelle shoves Shipley off of him...
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: WHAT?
He stares at Shipley and pushes him backwards. Meanwhile, “Stockholm Syndrome” blares out around the arena. Lavelle, gripping the back of his neck, climbs out of the ring to a reaction of cheers. He doesn’t look back, not once. He continues to move until he’s completely gone. Shipley stands alone in the ring... helpless.
Miguel Rodriguez: Shippy did not heelp Lavelle!
Hans Heinemann: I guess this match has no ending… neither man lost and neither man won. No contest ruling.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: I don’t know. Aaron Davies is still out cold. But more importantly...
Hans Heinemann: I wonder what this means for The Academy.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: You took the words right from my horse’s mouth!
Fresh!man
FEATURING: DAVID "PEARL" HARBER, HATE, DANNY O'SHEA
AUTHOR: PIERRE HYDE
We are back in Pearl’s office, where Hate, with a thunderous expression on his face, is feeding grapes to Danny O’Shea.
Pearl: Hey look, here’s our cue. Want to announce this week’s Fresh!man, Danny?
Danny O’Shea: Nah. Make Ha’e do ‘t!
Harber turns to Hate, looking pointedly at him. Hate sighs.
Hate: What do you want.
It isn’t a question, or at least shows none of the recognised signs of one. I didn’t even type a question-mark, mm?
Pearl passes Hate a small slip of paper with writing on. Hate’s eyes almost pop out of his red skull as he reads it.
Hate: Him?!
Hate chuckles slowly as David Harber nods.
Hate: Oh, what a sad day.
He begins to read out loud from the piece of paper.
Hate: (tonelessly) “I am delighted to announce that this week’s Fresh!man, for his excellent performance in his debut match against the veteran The British Bomber, who also made his first AWC appearance tonight, is Red Rock. I will now draw his reward from James Brunt’s top hat. #1 will give him a Livewire title shot; #2 will give him a Frontier title shot; #3 will –” we know this.
He turns to Pearl wearily.
Pearl: Alright, now draw his reward.
Harber offers Hate the top hat with a huge false smile. Resignedly, Hate’s hand delves in.
Hate: It’s – 3.
Pearl: A Transatlantic title shot for Red Rock!
Cheers are audible from the arena.
Pearl: Ooh, that is interesting... interesting indeed...
Hate: Shall I draw again?
Pearl: What? Why?
Hate: Well, you can’t seriously give that – that – Red Rock a Transatlantic title match!
Danny O’Shea: (roaring) AN’ WHY THE FECKIN’ HELL NOT? Grape please.
Hate throws a grape bad-temperedly at Danny.
Danny O’Shea: HEY! PICK THA’ UP!
Sighing, Hate heads over to where the grape landed and picks it up.
Hate: Do you want it now? It’s been on the floor.
Danny O’Shea: Like feck I do!
There is a pause.
Danny O’Shea: Tha’ means YES, ye twat.
Hate feeds the grape to O’Shea senior, wiping his brow.
Pearl: So, Hate. Care to elaborate? What is your reasoning against giving him the shot?
Hate holds up his hands.
Hate: No, fine, fine, you give it to him, you just watch the fans FLOCK to AWC like mindless sheep as Red Rock is announced as the latest Battle Of Britain headliner –
Pearl’s eyes widen.
Pearl: Great idea...
Final Straw
FEATURING: PIERCE LAVELLE, TIM SHIPLEY
AUTHORS: LARA CLARKE AND PIERRE HYDE
The scene opens backstage after the main event match. Pierce Lavelle is walking down the corridor holding an ice pack to his neck. Matt Matthews, a medic, is trailing behind him. Lavelle turns a corner sharply and then darts in the direction of Tim Shipley who is standing outside The Academy’s dressing room.
Pierce Lavelle: What the hell was that?
Tim Shipley: Er...
Pierce Lavelle: Why didn't you help me? WHY?
Worry etched all over Shipley’s face, he does his best to fend off the question.
Tim Shipley: I'm sorry, Pierce. I just – froze. The Breaking Point – and – I had a sudden image of Tony and I –
Pierce Lavelle: (loudly) Once again, Tony Aliso makes his way into this partnership. I can't do this anymore, Shipley. Teammates are supposed to help one another, not sit by and watch them lose consciousness. I am sick of being compared to a man, a great man, but he's gone now, as much as you may not like it, he's gone, and I'm not him. So, please, stop always trying to compare me to him. All I asked from you was a chance! You know, to maybe see that I am a good wrestler, and that I am here for the sport. But... no. Once again, I was put down, a shadow of somebody you seem to have an infatuation with.
Shipley shakes his head, incredulous.
Tim Shipley: I can’t believe –
Pierce Lavelle: Can’t believe WHAT?
There is a silence. Tim Shipley tries a different approach.
Tim Shipley: I just couldn’t – not once I’d seen –
Pierce Lavelle: Why? Oh, because he used the Breaking Point on me. Is that it? That's the reason you let me beg, fall unconscious and then wake up to find that Face-Eater's taken off, and you didn't even help.
Shipley holds up his hands.
Tim Shipley: I give up. I really do.
Pierce Lavelle: Good. You can fight your own battles from now on, Shipley. Face-Eater is after you and I won’t stop him.
Pierce Lavelle turns around and rips his name tag off of The Academy door. He pushes the door open and grabs his duffle bag. Shipley stands back with no expression whatsoever on his face. Lavelle turns around once more and looks at Shipley.
Pierce Lavelle: For weeks you have looked at me as a sort of failure, a mere shadow in the footsteps of The Pioneers. I guess that’s fine with me. I was a tool for your return. I get that now. You need help, Tim. The Academy is finished. It's just Pierce Lavelle and Tim Shipley, solo wrestlers.
Tim Shipley looks back at Lavelle, still nothing in his eyes. Lavelle's neck is bright red, from Face-Eater's grip of strangulation. Lavelle looks around at the corridor, which has now gathered a crowd. Shipley stands awkwardly, but still doesn’t appear to have fully reacted to what is going on.
Pierce Lavelle: Oh, and you don’t care? Well that’s fine. Forget our friendship. I –
Tim Shipley: Pierce!
Pierce Lavelle: Mm?
There is a silence.
Tim Shipley: N – nothing.
Pierce Lavelle: From now on, we go solo. You keep telling yourself that, Tim. This was the final straw that broke the camel’s back, so to speak. I have had to put up with weeks of this, and now, now I have been brought into your mess. I want out, Shipley. This is too much pressure for me to handle. I need to concentrate on my main event match at the pay-per-view.
Tim Shipley: (muttering) It’s always about you...
Lavelle snorts.
Pierce Lavelle: Oh, that’s rich. I can’t be worrying about whether I’ll be compared to Aliso again or whether your stalker, Face-Eater will mess with my make-up again –
FREDROCK~!: Pfff~! You wear make-up!
Lavelle and Shipley stare at FREDROCK~!.
FREDROCK~!: Oh... am I interrupting?
He scampers off. Lavelle tries to pick up from where he left off.
Pierce Lavelle: Or – or worse jump me in the backstage area. I need to clear my head. The only way is out.
Tim Shipley: (nodding) OK.
Pierce puts the ice pack on his neck again.
Pierce Lavelle: Yeah, I guess that’s – that’s it.
Tim Shipley: OK.
Lavelle stares at Shipley for a while, exasperated that he has had to do all the talking with little to no response from his partner – former partner. Lavelle turns his back on Shipley and makes his way toward the car park. Shipley looks on – emotionless. The crowd that had gathered now disperses, leaving Shipley standing in the hallway... alone.
Use Your Head
FEATURING: DANNY O'SHEA, DAVID "PEARL" HARBER, HATE, AZAGTOTH, PADDY O'SHEA
AUTHORS: MICHAEL DOHERTY AND JAAKKO OKSA
The scene opens once again to a changing room backstage. Once again, here is Danny O’Shea and David “Pearl” Harber sitting side-by-side having a relaxing chat. Danny O’Shea currently has his bare feet propped up on a suitcase that’s being used as a makeshift stool. Massaging Danny’s feet and on his knees is Hate. There is a contorted grimace on his red painted face and he seems genuinely disgusted at this task.
Pearl: So… no lawsuit?
Pearl slips this into the conversation coolly but an anxious smile tells a different story about his feelings. Danny turns around to him. The once nervous look is now gone and he seems to be thoroughly enjoying this pampering by his former kidnapper. He sighs and then smiles at Pearl.
Danny O'Shea: Ah… alright then ye fecker… aye’m havin’ a feckin’ great time. Wha’ about yerself Hate, ye enjoyin’ yerself down there?
Hate looks up with pure hate (ahaha, ahahahaha) in his eyes. He snarls at Danny but he is unfazed.
Hate: You’ll die for this pig.
Danny O’Shea: Oi! I sai’ massage, no’ threat’n! Now hurry up an’ get righ’ in between t’ toes.
Hate runs his fingers through Danny’s toe and begins to shiver uncontrollable in disgust.
Danny O'Shea: Oh Hate… HATE! OHHHHH! THAT BE SO GOOD!
Danny begins to laugh hysterically upon seeing Hate’s reaction to his faked orgasm. Pearl laughs along with him, more content he’s happy than at the joke.
The camera twirls around to show the open doorway. Suddenly, a figure comes into view. However, because of O’Shea and Pearl’s position, neither know this. Hate however is fully aware. The figure is that of Hate’s right hand man, Azagtoth. There is a sadistic look in his eye. Meanwhile, Hate can’t stop himself from smiling as Azagtoth slowly creeps into the room, a short chain in one hand.
Pearl: And what’s so amusing Hate?
Hate: Hear the war cry… the pigs have entered the slaughterhouse.
Suddenly Hate jumps up and punches Danny squarely across the face, which is followed almost instantaneously by a mini explosion of blood from Danny’s nose. Pearl jumps up in anger.
Pearl: WHAT ARE YOU DOING! THAT’S IT! THIS TIME –
Pearl’s ranting however is cut off by Azagtoth’s chain, which is being pulled around his throat. There seems to be some creepy contentment on his face as he does it, licking his lips. Eventually, Pearl passes out with a sickening croak and Azagtoth lets him drop to the ground to join Danny who is curled up in the foetal position, still conscious.
Hate: Did you really think I would let this debacle go ahead? Did you really think I would sit back and allow myself to be a slave to you? To a gypsy? To an Irishman? To basic scum of the earth?
Hate brandishes a switchblade from his jacket and licks his lips looking at it.
Hate: This time… I will FINISH the job.
Hate looks to the ground in a trance.
Hate: This is my sacrifice… to you.
Just as Hate begins to bend over to dissect Danny, a metal plate falls from the ceiling, just to the right of Azagtoth. Before either Azagtoth or Hate can look up to where it came from, the small figure of Paddy O’Shea falls from the now open vent and stamps Azagtoth on the top of the head. There is the sound of a small crunch and Azagtoth seems to fold up slightly like an accordion and drop to the ground. The look of resentment on Hate’s face is only matched by Paddy’s as he gains his composure. Hate swipes for him but Paddy easily dodges it.
Hate: Two sacrifices are better then one… my god will be most pleased.
Before Hate can swipe at Paddy again, with lightning fast speed, Paddy jabs Hate on the bridge of the nose causing him to step back. This is all Paddy needs: he pulls a wheel brace from his trunks and smashes it across Hate’s face. His red painted face makes it impossible to tell if he’s bleeding however. Hate slumps to the ground as Danny gets to his feet. The younger O’Shea then begins a relentless battering to the back of Hate’s head. He then kicks him around so he’s facing the ceiling and sees he’s unconscious. Paddy is about to strike again when he hears shouts coming from down the hall.
Danny O'Shea: It’s them bastardin’ minions. Come on Patrick, let’s go.
Paddy hesitates then looks at Hate’s face once more. He spits directly into his right eye.
Paddy O'Shea: See you at the Battle fecker.
Paddy then exits the room in a sprint behind Danny just as the sound of shouting becomes almost deafening. The camera turns around so as to give a close up of Hate’s face. Suddenly a snarl becomes etched across his face… then his eyes open suddenly, with rays of fury emitting from them.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: Ladies and gentlemen, we have drama...
Miguel Rodriguez: But we have no Pearl!
Hans Heinemann: And we have no time. Join us for Fresh!burst on... Sunday?
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: WHEN WE’LL BE IN IRRRRELAND!
Hans Heinemann: Oh, fun.
Miguel Rodriguez: Hey Dooby! Play zat funky music, white boy!
We can only imagine quite what is going on at ringside as we go off the air, the final shot remaining that prolonged close-up of Hate’s truly hateful face.