Fresh!burst Results14th August 2005
We've Got It Covered
FEATURING: DAVID "PEARL" HARBER, SECURITY STAFF
AUTHOR: PIERRE HYDE
Before this pre-Battle Of Britain edition of Fresh!burst can even begin, we find ourselves outside the Tallaght Arena, the cameras showing the back entrance to the venue. Two burly security men stand at the door, their navy outfits rendering them practically invisible behind the dazzling light beaming out onto the tarmac. As we watch, David Harber appears between them.
Pearl: How’s it going, Trey?
Security Guard: Everyone’s here who’s scheduled to be...
Pearl: You remember what I told you?
Security Guard: If Hate shows up, we call the cops?
Pearl: That’s right. You make sure he doesn’t get in the arena – and you make sure he’s arrested. Is that clear?
Pearl turns to the other security guard, who nods. The first speaks:
Security Guard: Sure thing.
Pearl smiles.
Pearl: Good, good. I’ll leave you to it, then...
Harber turns and melts back into the arena behind the prohibitive glare of yellow light.
A Phone Call From A Friend
FEATURING: THE FURIOUS FISTS OF GOD
AUTHOR: SAM LANDRY
The scene opens with Liam and Tim in one of the locker rooms in their wrestling gear kneeling in front of a locker. Their heads are down and they are praying to a picture of Jesus Christ, the son of our lord.
Tim and Liam Martin: Our father, who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name. Thy kingdom…
RINNGGGGG
The two stop momentarily and look over at a duffle bag in the room, the muffled ring coming from it. They stare at it for a moment, but immediately shrug it off and turn back to the picture of Jesus Christ.
Tim and Liam Martin: Thy kingdom co-
RINNGGGGG
Again, the two stop and look at the bag, sitting there innocently. They give it a funny look and stare at it for a moment, but then they shrug at it again. Right as they bow their heads down…
RINNGGGGG
Liam Martin: You fucking kidding me?! (looks up) Um…sorry…(looks back at the phone) I’ll fucking get it.
Tim Martin: No, Liam, remember what happened LAST time you answered the phone?
The two are silent for a minute as Liam looks down at the floor.
Tim Martin: Remember wha-
Liam Martin: I didn’t know it was Father Thompson! And I didn’t know he’d take offense to me saying I would cut his balls off if he didn’t have a good reason to call us!
Nodding with a smirk on his face, Tim reaches straight into the bag and pulls out a cell phone and flips it open. He places it to his head and stands there, straight face on.
Tim Martin: Hello…hey, Franky, hows…what?...when?...why?...how long ago?...here?...me and Liam?!...who fucking ratted on us?!...WHO RATTED?!...nothing?...we better hope so, Frank…God bless you, thank you…
Tim hangs up the phone and throws it in the bag, shaking his head.
Liam Martin: Who was it?
Tim Martin: Franky. You know, Billy’s brother?
Liam Martin: Of course, yeah, the police guy… what’d he have to say?
Tim Martin: (silenced momentarily) After the match, we’re out of here.
The scene fades away on Liam’s confused face.
Introduction
FEATURING: DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!, MIGUEL "THE MIDGET" RODRIGUEZ, HANS HEINEMANN
AUTHORS: DAVE LARKIN AND 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: Tim Shipley, The Farmer, Red Rock.
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. Red Rock hitting the RDT to end the challenge of The British Bomber; Rainbow Flag attacking helpless fans; Azagtoth choking Pearl into unconsciousness.
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~!: We’ve live from… Dublin, Ireland! Is this correct?! Are we really in my hometown of Dooooooooooooooooooooblin, IRELAND?
Miguel Rodriguez: I thought you were from the west of Ireland, Dave.
Hans Heinemann: Just shut up for a moment and listen to me hype the show. We’ve only got less than a minute to do it before the crew start the show.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: Good point. Tonight from Dublin, Ireland, we present Fresh!burst. There’s going to be no holding back as this is the last time AWC superstars are under one roof before our HUUUUUUGE pay-per-view…
Miguel Rodriguez: The Battle Of Britain! AWC’s best will fight out in match such as the farmyard Invitational and the Streets Of London match, among others.
Hans Heinemann: We’ve got three matches tonight. No championships on the line at all. We’ve done this purposely so the fans here in Ireland have the worst time possible.
Miguel Rodriguez: If they’ve got a good supply of booze, they’ll enjoy anything!
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: So true…
Hans Heinemann: Okay, we’ll see. We’ll all see…
Miguel Rodriguez: Yes. Indeed we will…
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: Enough of the standoff! Let’s get down to business. Or as they say in Irish, gno.
Hans Heinemann: Gno means business?
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: (coolly) Sea.
Miguel Rodriguez: What’s sea?
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: It means “yes”.
Hans Heinemann: (mockingly) You blow my mind.
When Jonny Met Pearl...y
FEATURING: DAVID "PEARL" HARBER, JONNY SAKE
AUTHOR: JAMES JOHNSON
Earlier this week...
The sound of chains and handcuff links rattles through the damp and extremely rank cell area of the Malaga St. George police station. A large door is being pulled back and a man is stood in the extreme light stream that is flowing from behind the door, his arms are tied behind his back and his legs are ball an chained. The faint voice of David “Pearl” Harber shouting the words “Jonny come here” are just clear enough to enrage the big man, while the two large policemen are holding him.
Pearl: Jonny come here!
Sake’s face goes a deep red and he gets an evil glare in his eye.
Jonny Sake: You know I can’t you faggot.
Pearl: Tsk tsk, I can fire you for that.
Jonny Sake: Heh, you might not be saying that later.
Pearl: Why won’t I?
Pearl gets to his feet and walks over to the restrained Jonny Sake. Pearl raises his hand to startle Sake, whilst his breathing grows heavy.
Pearl: Jonny you’re in prison, and I have no way of getting you out... I am afraid to say that I may have to cut your contract.
Jonny Sake: You know that you can pay me bail… don’t you.
Pearl: But why would I do that Jonny? You were a no-show at your match a few weeks back, and you nearly killed Krimzon.
Jonny Sake: I saw what The Educator announced, that’s a valid reason.
Pearl’s face turns sour. He had assumed that Jonny Sake would not have heard the announcement that was made the day before at Fresh!.
Jonny Sake: We may be in a middle-aged prison, but we do get cable, and we are all mad about AWC.
Pearl gets a tiny little smirk on his face, and starts staring at him in a strange way. He never says a word, he just points at the guards to take him back to his cell, and walks out.
No Entry
FEATURING: BRUNO HAGUE, TAZ YORKE, HATE, AZAGTOTH, BUTCH RADDER
AUTHOR: JAAKKO OKSA
The scene cuts out to the staff lounge room, where Bruno Hague and Taz Yorke are sharing a beer or two. The two laugh at some joke that remains unheard as the camera enters, but their laughter is cut off by the static buzz from the radio hanging from Hague’s belt. He picks it up while Yorke finishes off his beer.
Bruno Hague: Bruno.
Voice over the radio: STOP WHAT YOU’RE DOING AND COME TO THE FRONT GATE! We have a situation here!
Bruno Hague: Huh?
The rest of the static is filled with what sounds like a full-scale war going on in the background before it cuts off. Hague and Yorke don’t waste any time as they get up and run out of the room, followed by the camera. They make their way through the backstage area, parting crowds with Hague’s massive frame.
When they get out of the front doors, they see a sight from hell: at least six arena security guards backed up by Butch Radder are trying to hold back a violently angry Hate who is slowly trying to force his way through the throng of hands, shooting off kicks and punches all around him. Off to the side, two security guards with batons are holding down Azagtoth, whose face is streaked with red from a busted nose and is yelling at the two guards who are pressing his face against the pavement. Hate punches out a fat security guy and then slowly climbs over the post that’s between the two ticket booths. Butch Radder holds on with all his might, but Hate’s advancement cannot be stopped as he forces his way forwards, with Radder ending up with a torn sleeve of Hate’s jacket.
Hate: WHAT IS THIS? YOU MAGGOTS WANT TO STOP ME? YOU CAN’T! YOU CANNOT PREVENT ME FROM ENTERING! I WILL NOT ALLOW IT!
Hague has seen enough as he steps forward and right in front of Hate, remembering the last time he stood face to face with Hate and Hate backed down. Hague puts his hands on Hate’s shoulders and Hate stops, looking up at the massive Hague.
Bruno Hague: OK, look, the boss said you ain’t coming in, so just calm the fuck…
A blinding-fast uppercut from Hate connects perfectly with Bruno Hague’s jaw, making the giant of a man take two steps backwards in surprise. Everyone stops for a moment to look at Hague, who holds his jaw and spits out a wad of blood. Hague looks at Hate, responding to his murderous stare with one of pure hatred before pointing at Hate with his finger and yelling out loud.
Bruno Hague: YOU ARE SO FUCKING DEAD RIGHT NOW!
Hague runs forwards, and he and Hate start up a hellish fight with punches thrown left, right and center. Everyone else stands back for a moment, stunned at the ferocity, but once Hate kicks Hague in the groin and then headbutts the large man square in the forehead, they move in. The security guards grab one of Hate’s legs and arms each while Butch Radder and Taz Yorke start laying into Hate’s midsection with heavy punches, trying to force him on the ground. They succeed, but Hate still keeps on thrashing about violently, smashing his face on the concrete pavement and leaving after a streak of blood while he screams all the time.
Hate: LET ME GO, YOU INSOLENT FOOLS! I WILL NOT BE HELD BACK BY THE LIKES OF YOU OR THAT POISONOUS WORM PEARL! I WILL COME AND THERE’S NOTHING YOU CAN DO ABOUT IT!
As Hate keeps on screaming, a police van pulls on the curb right in front of the arena, and three uniformed officers burst out. One of them goes on to handcuff Azagtoth while two of them advance towards the writhing mass of men with stun guns in hand. Hate keeps on screaming profanities aimed at Bruno Hague and Pearl while the AWC security team keep on kicking at him. Finally, the police officers reach Hate and with a quick motion stun him twice in the back of the neck. After some convulsing, Hate just seems to shut down, and the police officers aided by the arena security haul him off into the van with Yorke and Radder checking on Bruno Hague. Hague brushes them off, and the scene cuts.
Are YOU Welsh?!
FEATURING: ANDY MURRAY AND CO., SARAH KENNEDY
AUTHOR: ANDY MURRAY
Backstage at the arena’s entrance lobby, we find a rather peculiar sight. A few metres from the main entrance, a stall has been set up by Andy Murray and his posse of wrestling freaks; Cayle, Grobschnit, Alvaro, and Snowball, everybody’s favourite fire-breathing badger. While Andy paces around handing out fliers to random passers-by, Cayle, Grob and Alvaro stand behind the stall, which is plastered with “AWC Welshman Appeal” posters. Each man also wears an identical white t-shirt with a Welsh flag and the words “Are YOU Welsh?!” printed on the front. As the crowd disperses a little, Andy wanders back across towards the stall.
Andy Murray: No such luck yet, my homies, but the night is young! SURELY there is at least one person in this god-forsaken building that is Welsh!
Grobschnit: Yo, eye donnt fink taht beein Welsch iz sumthin dat peepole wan two addmit too.
Andy Murray: Oh, shut up you racist faggot and get promoting!
Suddenly, Murray is interrupted.
Sarah Kennedy: Excuse me, Mr. Murray…
Andy jumps, surprised by Kennedy’s arrival, as he turns around to face the microphone-wielding interviewer.
Andy Murray: JESUS H.! You just scared the LIVING DAYLIGHTS out of me, you psychopath.
Sarah Kennedy: Sorry Andy… maybe you could answer a couple of questions for the fans out there… firstly, what’s this you’ve got going on?
Andy Murray: Well, psychotic Kennedy woman of death, last week on Fresh, you may have seen Pearl sanctioning a match… the Best of British, pitting I, Andy Murray, Scotland, against The British Bomber, England, and Mike Wade, Ireland. But we’ve got a problem, there are FOUR countries in Britain… we’re missing a Welshman! That’s why tonight Peal has sent I, the Scottish King of Cool, out on a special mission to locate a Welshman before The Battle of Britain!
Sarah Kennedy: Oh, and how’s the search going so far?
Andy Murray: Well, we’ve had no luck yet… but I’m working on it! There isn’t enough sheep-loving brotha’s around here, godammit! Say… you’re not Welsh, are you
Murray raises an eyebrow.
Andy Murray: Say, you’re not Welsh, are you?
Sarah Kennedy: Ummm, noooo… definitely not…
Sensing now would be a good time to leave, Kennedy slips away as we leave this area.
How... Interesting
FEATURING: DAVID "PEARL" HARBER, THE EDUCATOR
AUTHOR: PIERRE HYDE
Pearl: I promised you an interesting pay-per-view, did I not, Educator?
Entertainment Manager David Harber and now-official Livewire champion The Educator are walking side by side through the empty refreshments area backstage at the Tallaght Arena. White plastic tables are littered with used paper plates and plastic cups, the remains of the catering being a small assortment of anaemic-looking sandwiches piled together in the centre of one table. The Educator casts a look of disgust over the room, and then at FREDROCK~!, who sidles in, mopping the floor – or rather, jabbing the floor with his MOP~!.
The Educator: I’m more interested in seeing just how you’re going to get Kris Krimzon out of hospital and Jonny Sake out of that Spanish prison by this Friday.
Harber swallows.
Pearl: That’s all sorted out.
His wavering voice indicates quite a different scenario. Educator smirks.
The Educator: I don’t think the shareholders will be too pleased that all this money is going to go to pay-per-view refunds... didn’t stick to the advertised card...
Pearl: (coolly) And you would just do your damnedest to make it worse, wouldn’t you? I’d stick ten dollars on you appearing on Fresh! telling our viewers to phone a particular number and cash back their receipts.
The Educator flashes a gleaming smile.
The Educator: Why not, Pearl, why not? In case you haven’t noticed, I’m locked into a written contract.
Pearl: You know that wrestling isn’t all about contracts. If they want you out, you’re out, and you get your huge pay-off, but you aren’t on TV. A man with your ego can’t take that.
Educator nods, acknowledging that Pearl has scored a point and relishing the challenge he poses.
The Educator: I think you’re the one who should be worried. Who’s in charge? Who’s going to be the scapegoat when all that money goes rolling down, down, down the drain?
The Educator smirks once more as Harber narrows his eyes at him, as they leave the room and begin to pace a generic corridor, all magnolia walls and white ceiling.
Pearl: I told you, Educator. It’s all sorted out now. You’ll have your match, just like you wanted...
And now Pearl grins. Something The Educator didn’t want to see happen.
The Educator: Why the happy face?
Pearl: Oh, nothing, nothing... you’re just going to have a great time at The Battle Of Britain... a very interesting time –
The Educator: You’re so full of yourself. Did you really think I hadn’t worked out that I’ll now be in two matches, the Streets Of London match and the Livewire three way?
Pearl stops walking; Educator follows suit. Pearl smiles; Educator snarls.
Pearl: Two matches? Don’t be stupid.
Now The Educator has his turn to grin.
The Educator: Don’t tell me you hadn’t realised I was in two. Streets Of London and the Livewire three way, like I s –
Pearl: No no, you’re not in two matches.
Adam Masters raises his eyebrows.
The Educator: Oh really?
Harber smiles widely.
Pearl: No. You’re in three.
The silence is deafening.
His eyes pop, his cheeks bulge – and then, he laughs.
The Educator: Right, right, Pearl. You booked me in three matches... like you’d devote that much of your precious pay-per-view to a man you actively dislike. Though, of course, I am the biggest draw –
Pearl: Well really Adam, you booked yourself. Do you not remember the terms of our little exchange?
Educator frowns as he drags his mind back over two weeks to when he bargained with Pearl live on Fresh!.
The Educator: I gave you my Frontier title belt –
Pearl: – and I gave you an official Livewire championship reign –
The Educator: – plus a shot at the Frontier champion, and a shot at the Transatlantic champion...
Educator pauses, his eyes glazing over as he turns it over in his head. Pearl suddenly turns and walks off.
Pearl: (over his shoulder) That’s right.
Educator hurries to catch up.
The Educator: Wait... wait! You don’t mean –
Pearl: You’re cashing in both those opportunities in one night? In addition to defending your Livewire title, yes, against Krimzon and Sake? You’re damn right I mean it.
David Harber sweeps off down the corridor, leaving The Educator staring after him, aghast.
The Educator: (shouting) One last thing! Who am I facing?
Pearl turns and regards him with a smile.
Pearl: Hmm... I haven’t decided yet.
The Educator: What...?!
With a friendly smile, David “Pearl” Harber once more turns away, and this particular scene ends.
Team Super Evil vs The Furious Fists Of God
STIPULATION: DUO TAG
REFEREE: JOSEPH REID
AUTHOR: JAMIE ROGERSON
We're still waiting for it. Spoiler winner: FFGod.
I'm Welsh?
FEATURING: ANDY MURRAY AND CO., ADALIA DELORIAN
AUTHOR: ANDY MURRAY
Once again we head to the entrance lobby, where Andy Murray and his posse are still running around trying to find a Welshman for the Best of British contest at the Battle of Britain.
Cayle Murray: You know something, Andy… I don’t think we’re gonna find anyone…
Andy Murray: Oh don’t be such a pessimist, my brother… AHA! Look, somebody! I BET they’re Welsh!
Another person slips into the arena, slightly more muscular than those before him. Immediately, Andy dashes across towards this figure, and thrusts one of his fliers at him.
Andy Murray: You there! What’s your name?
Adalia Delorian: Uhhh, I’m Adalia Delorian…
Andy Murray: Excellent! And, what are you, a fan?
Adalia Delorian: Actually, I just got signed to an AWC contract.
Andy grins.
Andy Murray: OH! So you’re a wrestler… excellent… you’re not Welsh, by any chance, are you? You certainly look Welsh…
Adalia shrugs, before responding.
Adalia Delorian: I could be…
Andy Murray: WOOOOOOOOOOOO!
Murray leaps in the air and cheers, spilling his Welsh fliers all over the place. He then reaches out an embraces a very much confused Delorian with a firm hug.
Andy Murray: How would you like to be the Welsh participant in the Best of British match at the pay per view, buddy? It’s gonna be me, Andy Murray, Scotland, against Mike Wade, Ireland, The British Bomber, England, and you… uhhhh, Ryan Giggs, Wales! How does that sound!
Adalia Delorian: Umm, okay, sure… if it helps… Andy Murray: Consider yourself in The Best of British match then Welsh homeboy! I’ll let Pearl know immediately!
Adalia Delorian: Oh, that’s great, I guess.
With that we again leave the scene, as Andy darts off to find Harber.
Trouble
FEATURING: THE FURIOUS FISTS OF GOD, THE FBI
AUTHOR: SAM LANDRY
After the match, Liam and Tim Martin are backstage rushing to get out of the arena as quick as they can when, suddenly…
FBI: FBI, stop!
Liam and Tim turn around as does the camera, only to see five officers running down the corridor. Liam and Tim stand there, shocked, their bodies staying still.
Tim Martin: What the…
Two of the officers pull out handguns and aim them at the brothers, who immediately put their hands in the air.
FBI Agent: Drop to your knees, NOW!
The two drop to their knees where they are thrown flat on the ground, their faces flat against the concrete. The agents hand cuff the two men and then pull them to their feet, leading them away briskly.
Tim Martin: (whispering) Don’t worry, Liam… no one said a thing… they’re running on a…
CRACK! One of the agents smacks Tim against the head with the pistol, whipping his head to the side.
FBI Agent: Shut up!
The seven of them walk into a large, black SUV vehicle which, once everyone is inside, speeds off into the distance.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: I didn’t know that old lady from last week was in the FBI! POTATOES!
Hans Heinemann: I have a feeling that that lady is now the least of their worries...
Confirmed
FEATURING: RED ROCK, BOOLIE, DAVID "PEARL" HARBER
AUTHOR: JOSH YOUNG
The scene cuts backstage. The shot is locked on the office door of David “Pearl” Harber. The camera turns to the left where down the corridor we see Red Rock and Boolie walking towards the office. Red Rock is wearing a green t-shirt and a comically large plush Guinness top hat. Red Rock appears to be in a better mood as he taps on the door; Red Rock and Boolie enter.
Pearl: Come in Red.
Red Rock: Hello Dave! Will I be receiving another bollocking today?
Pearl: Not exactly Red, please take a seat. Oh and Boolie if you don't mind?
Boolie: No I don't mind.
Red Rock: He means fuck off you rasclart!
Boolie: OH, right-o I'll wait outside then!
Boolie backs out of the door and Red Rock focuses his attention on what David Harber has to say.
Red Rock: Well what have I done then?
Pearl: Well as you know last week at Fresh you were made Fresh!man…
Red Rock grins.
Red Rock: Yes I am aware.
Pearl: And you're also aware that you drew number three, which has given you a Transatlantic –
Red Rock: Yeah, about that Dave. I'm a little bit confused as to when I'm going to get the shot?
Pearl: I was about to get on to that Red! You really have Hate to thank for this.
Red Rock: Who?
Pearl: The guy with the red head.
Red Rock: Oh yeah him, me and Boolie thinks he looks like the product of Hulk Hogan in a radioactive explosion in a matchstick factory.
Pearl raises an eyebrow at Red Rock's over active imagination.
Pearl: Yes anyway. You will get your title shot at The Battle Of Britain, in the Streets Of London match!
Red Rock: Really? WOW! That's...really....really...soon.
Pearl: Is that a problem? You don't seem all the enthusiastic.
Red Rock: Oh no I'm fine! I'll be fine, I work well under pressure!
Red Rock looks visibly nervous but at the same time trying to contain his excitement about stepping on a tour bus to fight the best in AWC.
Pearl: Don't worry Red, I'm sure you'll be fine!
Harber slaps Red Rock across the back in a supportive manner as Red Rock leaves the office and is met by Boolie who is pacing backwards and forwards awaiting news.
Boolie: So what is it Red?
Red Rock: Red Rock is in the Battle of Britain main event mother FUCKEEEEER~!
Red Rock punches the air and grins before exchanging a high five with Boolie.
Up The Irish!
FEATURING: PADDY O'SHEA, THE FARMER
AUTHOR: MICHAEL DOHERTY
Cue a green explosion of pyros straight up into the air around the stage. Soon follows a white explosion of pyrotechnics in the same manner. And yes, predictably there goes the orange explosion. The Dublin crowd know what’s coming. The commentators know who is coming and then as the Irish National Anthem erupts onto the speakers the crowd are dead silent, the melody and words are echoed by DOOOOOOBLIN DAVE~! and every fan in attendance.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: It’s me boys!
Hans Heinemann: Are you crying?
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: POTATOES~!
Hans Heinemann: Don’t change the subject!
Soldiers are we,
whose lives are pledged to Ireland
Some have come from a land beyond the wave,
Some to be free,
no more our ancient sireland
Shall shelter the despot or the slave;
tonight we man the Bearna Baoghal
In Erin's cause.
come woe or weal;
'Mid cannon's roar and rifle's
We'll chant a soldier's song.
We'll sing a song, a soldier's song
With cheering, rousing chorus
As round our blazing fires we thong,
The starry heavens o'er us;
Impatient for the coming fight,
And as we wait the mornings light
here in the silence of the night
We'll sing a soldier's song
Soldiers are we,
whose lives are pledged to Ireland
Some have come from a land beyond the wave,
Some to be free,
no more our ancient sireland
Shall shelter the despot or the slave;
tonight we man the Bearna Baoghal
In Erin's cause.
come woe or weal;
'Mid cannon's roar and rifle's peal
We'll chant a soldier's song.
In valley green or towering crag
Our fathers fought before us,
And conquered 'neath the same old flag
That's floating o'er us,
We're children of a fighting race
That never yet has known disgrace,
And as we march the foe to face,
We'll sing a soldier's song
Soldiers are we,
whose lives are pledged to Ireland
Some have come from a land beyond the wave,
Some to be free,
no more our ancient sireland
Shall shelter the despot or the slave;
tonight we man the Bearna Baoghal
In Erin's cause;
come woe or weal;
'Mid cannon's roar and rifle's peal
We'll chant a soldier's song.
Sons of the Gael! Men of the Pale!
The Long watched day is breaking;
The serried ranks of Innisfail
Shall set the tyrant quaking.
Our camp fires now are burning low;
See in the east a silvery glow,
Out yonder waits the saxon foe,
So sing a soldier's song.
The National Anthem fades as it finishes and is replaced by an explosion of pyro, a complete explosion of pyro with green, white and orange flying through the air.
Cue “You’ll Never Beat The Irish” by The Wolf Tones hitting the speakers and the once silent and respectful crowd erupt in a hellacious cheer as Eire Og’s arrival is imminent.
James Brunt: Making their way to the ring, at a combined weight of 413 pounds… From Co. Leitrim and Co. Galway respectively… they are members of Eire Og… “The Farmer” Michael Fitzpatrick-McCarthy and Paddy O’Shea!
God bless the Tallaght Arena as the crowd literally raises the roof as the two Irishmen step onto the AWC stage. The pyro is still streaming from the roof and now shamrocks have been released from the rafters and are floating to the stage and down to the ring. The Farmer is carrying an Alliance title belt as is Paddy O’Shea. The Eire Og members march down the stage, give a few crowd members a high-five and really milking their entrance. Sliding under the bottom rope both men jump to opposite turnbuckles and raise their championship belts into the air, signalling another huge explosion of cheers from the Irish crowd.
Miguel Rodriguez: Why does The Farmer have Crimson O’Malec’s belt?
Hans Heinemann: Because being Irish, they mugged him because he’s part American.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: Oh yeah, and what is so brilliant about Germany? Everybody walks around like they have a rod up their arses!
A few shamrocks are still floating to rest as Paddy O’Shea steps down and is handed a microphone. Mickey steps down from his turnbuckle and is handed a microphone as well. Pacing to the centre of the ring, the crowd hush as the two men look at each other.
The Farmer: Man… It feels like it be St. Paddy’s DAY!
And there goes another huge pop from the crowd. They return to a hush pretty quickly.
Paddy O’Shea: Aye have t’ say…
Paddy nods as he steps around, looking out at every corner of the arena.
Paddy O’Shea: It be so good to back in the Emerald Isle! Let’s see Hate try an’ attack me on MY battleground!
And there was the next pop of the evening. Mickey smiled as he knew that this was easily the best reaction he could have hoped for.
Paddy O’Shea: Now let’s get down t’ business…
The crowd hushed a little more as Paddy spoke.
Paddy O’Shea: Who be winning the football?
There goes the other pop. The question is totally for the Irish viewers, drawing reference the Gaelic football currently being played in Ireland.
Crowd: DUB-LIN! DUB-LIN!
Paddy O’Shea: I’m more of a Galway man myself…
And there it was. The unthinkable, Paddy O’Shea got some boos. But even in Ireland you can end up un-liked because you come from the wrong place.
The Farmer shakes his head at his partner.
Paddy O’Shea: Aye’m only jokin’! Calm yer fine self’s down! Now… Aye’d like t’ announce something… As some of ye may know… Crimson is indefinitely out o’ action… He has gone off in pursuit of Strider… and we are not sure o’ when he will return…
The crowd echo the sound of disappointment that rings true in Paddy’s voice.
Paddy O’Shea: But… T’ make sure the duo championships remain active… Aye’d like t’ present the third member… o’ the Emerald Isle… and the third… Alliance… champion… The Farmer!
Cue another shower of green shamrocks, as The Farmer throws his arms in the air to a huge explosion of pyro from the crowd.
Hans Heinemann: Waiiiiiit a minute. He’s saying three people will share two belts? You can’t do that! Einz Gratzuppen…
Miguel Rodriguez: You’re very attractive too but I don’t feel for you in that way!
The Farmer: Thanks very much… RAR!
Paddy laughs as the crowd are still settling down.
Paddy O’Shea: Now… the pressing matters fer Eire Og… Here we are in Dublin… And do we have a match?
Cue the boos of disappointment from the crowd.
Paddy O’Shea: Exactly… An Irish homecoming and we aren’t even given a chance to kick some British arses! What’s a man t’ do, eh?
And suddenly the boos are changed to cheers.
The Farmer: But it leave us time t’ prepare fer our victories at Battle O’ Britain…
The Farmer interrupts the cheers, but with his sentence causes the cheers to increase.
The Farmer: When we come back t’ Ireland, and appear in Belfast… Aye will be carryin’ the Relentless championship belt…
Paddy O’Shea: And aye’ll be carrying the Transatlantic belt…
Another huge waves of cheers echo towards the ring as Paddy and The Farmer stand with huge grins on their faces.
Paddy O’Shea: Emerald Isle will be filled with champions…
The Farmer: RAR!
The crowd settle down to a murmur as Paddy takes a couple of steps into the centre of the ring.
Paddy O’Shea: Now… Somethin’ that has bothered us in the Emerald Isle since last week’s Fresh!…
The Farmer: Mike Wade representing Ireland…
A mixed reaction is heard around the small arena at the mention of the only Irishman not to join Eire Og.
Paddy O’Shea: Mike Wade… Ye had better win tha’ match… And to make sure o’ it… We in Eire Og, are offerin’ ye our assistance in any manner you may need to make sure you win the Best Of British Match a’ the Battle Of Britain…
The Farmer: RAR!
Hans Heinemann: He’s offering to interfere! All Irish are cheats. Cleanse the AWC!
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: Honestly, Hans. There are at least 5,000 people that could surround you in seconds…
Hans Heinemann: (grumbling) Bloody Irish.
Paddy O’Shea: And that be about all we have t’ say…
The Farmer: So enjoy yer night and we’ll see ye at Battle Of Britain. Bye Dave!
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: I wanna join Eire Og! Where’s the app forms?
Hans Heinemann: Sigh...
A Challenge
FEATURING: DAVID "PEARL" HARBER, THE ILLUSTRIOUS FACE-EATER
AUTHORS: LARA'S MAN AND PIERRE HYDE
It starts with a small acoustic melody.
And then the violas and violins, the strings.
Followed by a flying-V guitar, and drums.
Yes, this is the process of the abrasively loud theme song of The Illustrious Face-Eater, as told by Coheed & Cambria. “Welcome Home.”
You could have been all I wanted
But you weren’t honest
Now get in the ground
If you could taste anger, you wouldn’t even need to open your mouth in the arena on this night. All you’ve got to do is take a deep breath through your nostrils after the Face-Eater steps on stage. Cups are flying at him, as are hot-dogs sans hot-dog buns. All eyes and emotions are set on the man who literally tortured the Transatlantic champion just five days ago.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: Now I just don’t know what to think about this fellow.
Hans Heinemann: Are we sure that this is the guy who has been stalking Tim Shipley?
Miguel Rodriguez: Of course, and he ALSO responsible for SINGLE HANDEDLY dismantling The Academy!
Hans Heinemann: Awesome; over before the atrocity even began.
The surprisingly slender athlete stands frozen for a moment, his hair poking out the bare areas of his mask. A smile can be seen through mouth slit, and it makes these fans all the more anxious to whoop his ass. A thin barricade is all that separates The Illustrious Face-Eater and the fans of Pierce Lavelle and Tim Shipley who so want to avenge the torment of their favorite wrestlers.
Facey strolls to the ring, swaying his arms while he walks as if he were, and I quote, “slow-motion-power-jogging”. It is called the “Face-Eater Victory Stroll Of Erotic Desire”, and the Face-Eater has damn near perfected it.
When he climbs in the ring, James Brunt automatically knows the drill, dropping the mic for the superstar and rolling out under the bottom rope. Almost out of routine, he flips Face-Eater off without looking at him, getting their general pleasantries out of the way.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: Brunty’s never like this with the other wrestlers!
Face-Eater: Thanks, James! Well, I guess the secret is out, huh?
Needless to say, the fans aren’t particularly happy at this last comment.
Face-Eater: You know what’s the funniest part of it all? Is that I, personally, have done the SHITTIEST job ever at covering my tracks. That’s not really the funny aspect; what is is that I did that purposely. The way I had this all figured out, Tim Shipley would have been on my case from the second he even heard the name “Face-Eater”.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: He is right; the answer to ‘Who is Tim Shipley’s stalker?’ has been in front of us the entire time.
Miguel Rodriguez: I almost feel cheated.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: Potatoes, Miguel. Mother frickin’ potatoes.
Face-Eater: FUCKITY, man, I dumped ANTS on your head! I tenderized your pitcher’s face! And then there’s poor little Tony Aliso.
Facey’s tasteless comments are only getting the best of the crowd. Who knows what Tim Shipley is feeling, knowing that he’s watching.
Face-Eater: I think you’ve gotten the picture, right Tim? See, I’m not the type of person that reiterates everything I’ve done. You know what I’m capable of, inside the ring and out. I’ve controlled every aspect of your psyche for the last few weeks; slowly but surely my face has taken over your mind. I’m the manifestation of your guilt, your loneliness, and your lack of self-esteem. The time has come, Tim Shipley, for me to finish the job.
Hans Heinemann: And what could that entail?!
Face-Eater: Because we all know you winning that championship was a joke. And we all know that The Educator is so boring that no one wants to see him hold that belt, let alone two others. Those of us who can add two and two to make seventeen all know that you’re fighting The Educator due to his little deal with Lame-O Harb. BUT WE SHALL NOT BE BORED TO DEATH BY YOUR LACK OF SKILL!
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: Is he challenging Tim Shipley?
Face-Eater: So I guess the final question, Tim Shipley, is a matter of your own health. Mentally, physically; are you capable of tackling your worst fears? Because I’m hear for you, Timmy. I’m not like Pierce Lavelle, this isn’t temporary. I will not go away.
Co&Ca the artist, “Welcome Home” the song as the Face-Eater disappears slowly up the ramp, the commentators watching him go.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: Facey laying down a challenge for Tim Shipley there! And he also predicted a match for The Battle Of Britain: Shipley versus The Educator for the Frontier championship!
Hans Heinemann: Oh come on. It’s hardly a prediction, it’s so obvious. Did you not hear Harber tell The Educator he’d be in for a very “interesting” pay-per-view? Mm?
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: I heard his SARCASM as he told the incredibly slow Educator that he “didn’t know” who he’d be facing, even though he’d already said he’d be cashing in both title shots! Even Miggy coulda guessed that... Miggy?
A strange sucking noise is coming from Rodriguez’s usual chair.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: That’s –
Hans Heinemann: Lovely.
Steven Xandrous vs Gabriel
STIPULATION: SINGLES
REFEREE: LARS LARSSON
AUTHOR: JAMES JOHNSON
"The Memory Remains" hits the Tallaght arena and Steven Xandrous steps out onto the stage, he takes time to stare at the crowd in his ‘bad ass’ sort of way before heading down to the ring.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: It feels great to be home in POTATOES~! Dublin.
Miguel Rodriguez: Really? Because I hate it!
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: Kiss Me Lucky Charms!
Hans Heinemann: Stop fighting, you’re like a pair of my nana’s tits, you never stop sagging.
Miguel Rodriguez: I believe you mean slagging.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: No, his nana’s tits do sag.
Steve slips into the ring and looks up the runway awaiting his opponent Gabriel, whose music “Rape Me” has just started.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: Who would want to rape him? I wouldn’t let him touch my pot of gold, never mind suck it.
Hans Heinemann: First you hate British, now you hate songs about rapists. Will you give no one a chance?
Miguel Rodriguez: Obviously not.
Gabriel’s music continues to play, but no one appears to be stood at the head of the runway. Steven’s face seems very disgruntled and crumpled, due to his apparently no show opponent.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: Two shows and we’ve had two almost-no-shows.
Miguel Rodriguez: Well Red Rock finally turned up last week, and hopefully we can say the same for Gabriel.
Hans Heinemann: (crossing his fingers) Please don’t turn up, please don’t turn up.
Miguel Rodriguez: What ARE you doing?
Hans Heinemann: My gun’s fully loaded and I want to shoot Gabriel, but I can only do that if he is a no-show.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: But Hans, that might get you fired. POTATOES~!
Hans Heinemann: Pearl can take my job, Pearl can take my family, but Pearl cannot take my kill.
Miguel Rodriguez: We’ve gone into German and Irish brave-heart mode.
Steven looks like he has lost his patience, and he is following the referee out of the ring. Meanwhile Gabriel is running down from one of the sky boxes, through the crowd and down towards the ring. He has an orange steel chair in his hand, and he has a black “Gabriel” tee shirt on.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: AC-DIDDLY-ACTION JACKSON~! Look at him go, Steven Xandrous better watch his back.
Hans Heinemann: Oh crap, I can’t kill him now.
Miguel Rodriguez: And that anozzer superstar saved from the hand of Hans Heinemann.
Lars Larsson heads off further up the walkway toward the curtain looking for the missing Gabriel. But while the referee is not looking, Gabriel sends an almighty whack to the head of Xandrous. Gabriel tosses the chair into the crowd just before the ref can see and pick Xandrous to his feet.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: What a dirty and cheap shot by Gabriel. He should be, er, shot dead for that.
Hans Heinemann: OK! I’ll go and get my gun.
Miguel Rodriguez: It was a figure of speech.
Hans Heinemann: Oh, shame.
Lars turns and looks at the scene of Gabriel and Steven, who is holding his head, staring each other out. Larsson points towards the ring and slides into the middle; followed by the two superstars.
RING
RING
RING
Miguel Rodriguez: Well this match is finally underway.
Hans Heinemann: I still should have killed him.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: Give it a rest for St. Pat’s sake.
Gabriel approaches Steven and locks up with him; Gabriel swipes the back of his leg and sends Steven flying towards the ground. Gabriel quickly hurries for the cover.
ONE!
TWO!
Xandrous kicks out after a very short two count.
Hans Heinemann: I thought that chair shot would have had him out cold.
Miguel Rodriguez: Well he’s had time to recover since he actually got hit.
Gabriel is complaining to the referee about how the count was a three, whilst Steven X is on his feet. Steven charges at Gabriel and hits him with a spear just as he turns around and sends him flying into the ref and into the turnbuckle. Xandrous takes his time to taunt at the crowd before picking Gabriel onto his shoulders.
Hans Heinemann: If he goes for the Homicidal Wreckage this match will be over in the blink of an eye.
Miguel Rodriguez: Well if you look, Steven’s head wound is makes him lose the control of Gabriel’s body weight.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: You spoke too soon Miggy, Xandrous is about to let go.
Gabriel slips off of the shoulders of Xandrous and puts his right arm around the neck. Xandrous tries to keep Gabriel from pulling off his move, but he fails and gets his already wounded head slammed to the floor. Gabriel picks the referee up from the fetal position in front of the turnbuckle and tells him to count. Gabriel slides on top of Steven whilst the ref gets to his knees and decides to count.
ONE!
TWO!
Steven Xandrous just manages to kick out with just half a second until this entire match was over. Gabriel turns to the crowd, that are constantly booing, and flips them off, not realizing that the ever resilient Steven X has already got to his feet, and awaiting Gabriel to turn around. Gabriel eventually turns around and receives a running uppercut from Xandrous.
Miguel Rodriguez: The power behind that uppercut must have been tremendous, I could have sworn I saw two teeth come flying out of his mouth.
Hans Heinemann: He may be unconscious, he isn’t moving.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: GUINNESS!
Xandrous picks Gabriel up from the floor and perfectly executes a belly-to-back suplex. Steven carries on the assault with a mass of punches to the head and then a sneaky and quick nutcracker before grabbing Gabriel’s head and resting it on the bottom rope. Xandrous drops down and slides out of the ring and stands right behind the head of Gabriel. Xandrous grabs Gabriel’s chin and drops himself to the floor pulling Gabriel’s head over the bottom rope and temporarily blocking his windpipe.
Miguel Rodriguez: If he doesn’t let go soon Gabriel really is going to be an fallen angel.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: I used to see that in old wrestling shows, a newcomer pulled it off on Giant Haystacks… It was on the Sunday of my birthday in 1934, my dad was on the Jack Daniels and my mother was drinking Baileys…
Hans Heinemann:1934! You weren’t even alive then and neither was your mother, YOUR MOTHER AND FATHER ARE BOTH 45!
Miguel Rodriguez: Shut up you two, we’ve got Steven X about to win his match here.
Xandrous slides back into the ring and starts mud hole stomping his stomach, Gabriel’s face a bright red all the while and the back of his neck bleeding due to severe rope burn. Steven X picks up the half conscious Gabriel and rests him on the ropes. Steven X runs to the far ropes and launches himself into a spear, nailing Gabriel squarely in the mid section. Xandrous seems to have hurt himself in the impact, though, and cannot muster up the strength to cover.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: Oh feathersticks!
Hans Heinemann: Is that your best curse word, Dave?
Miguel Rodriguez: My best curse word is jigglybangs!
Hans Heinemann: You don’t even want to know what mine is. It’s foul.
Gabriel rolls onto his back and rolls out of the ring, being jeered by the rude Irish fans all the while. Gabriel removes a small lead pipe from underneath the ring apron and conceals it in his shorts. Gabriel re-enters the ring and, throwing caution to the wind, smacks Xandrous head-on with the pipe, forcing Lars Larsson to call for the automatic disqualification.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: That’s pretty random, huh? What just happened, I mean.
Hans Heinemann: I was looking forward to the Homicidal Wreckage and that numbnuts Gabriel had to ruin it for me. My life is so bland…
Miguel Rodriguez: But with us, you’re comforted just a little bit, I bet.
Hans Heinemann: No, your presence doesn’t help whatsoever.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: Somebody’s depressed…
Gabriel, seemingly possessed, tries to hit Xandrous again, but Larsson takes the pipe from him. The bell continues to ring for the disqualification, and the Irish fans feel robbed and begin to boo incessantly. Xandrous heads up the ramp way, not bothering to allow the referee to raise his hand in victory.
Hans Heinemann: Xandrous looks like a confused man, and I wouldn’t blame him one bit.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: POTATOES!
Miguel Rodriguez: Well, it’s disappointing for these Irish fans, but this match ends with a DQ win for Steven Xandrous. Gabriel has done this before!
Hans Heinemann: He seems to like spoiling promising matches...
Supply Outstrips Demand
FEATURING: TIM SHIPLEY, DAVID "PEARL" HARBER
AUTHOR: PIERRE HYDE
Tim Shipley is sitting outside David Harber’s locker room. Not booked for tonight, he has attired himself in his usual casual set of blue jeans and dark blue shirt with orange pinstripes – an overworn, much-loved gift from a friend, or girlfriend, or ex-girlfriend, or girl-who-is-a-friend, so we understand.
Pearl: Hey Tim.
Shipley looks up in surprise as Harber halts on the way into his office.
Tim Shipley: Oh – hi, Mr. Harber...
Pearl: I’ve got some good news!
David “Pearl” Harber beams as Shipley smiles slowly.
Tim Shipley: What’s that?
Pearl: I’ve found you a match for The Battle Of Britain!
The crowd roar is heard, but Shipley, the Frontier champion, doesn’t appear too enthused with the idea. He frowns.
Tim Shipley: No, Mr. Harber, you don’t need –
Pearl: Ah, but it’s OK, Tim, I want to. See, I’m getting my own back on The Educator for stealing those belts –
Harber motions to that adorning Shipley’s shoulder. Shipley looks down at it with a small smile, but worry still flecks his brow.
Tim Shipley: No really, I –
Pearl: Don’t worry, don’t worry! It’ll be nice and easy. See, you’ll be taking on The Educator one-on-one for the Frontier title, but that’ll be the second of three matches he’ll be in! He’ll be tired out from his Livewire title match and trying to save himself for the Transatlantic title match too. You’ll be absolutely f –
Tim Shipley: (loudly) Pearl, I can’t face The Educator!
Harber, slightly taken aback, looks at his young new Frontier champion curiously.
Pearl: And why not?
Shipley sighs. Looking at the floor is a favourite pastime of his; now is as good a time as any to indulge in it as he drums his fingers on his title belt.
Tim Shipley: I’ve got to – I’ve got to fight the Face-Eater.
Pearl frowns.
Pearl: You haven’t GOT to do anything –
Tim Shipley: (upset) Mr. Harber, you know what he’s been doing?
Pearl sighs loudly.
Pearl: What took you so long, Tim? No, I’m sorry, you’ve got your booking, and that’s that.
Tim Shipley: (defiantly) Mr. Harber, I need to face him!
Ashen-faced, the 20-year-old looks pleadingly into the eyes of his boss, who remains unmoved.
Pearl: Tim, the heat’s not there! If you’d worked it out when the rest of us did – if you’d run with it –
Tim Shipley: I’ve worked it out now. I’m running with it now...
Pearl: Tim... I admire your eagerness and I wish I could. But I’ve made a booking, and everybody knows David “Pearl” Harber doesn’t go back on a booking. It’s Tim Shipley vs The Educator... and that’s final.
Pearl turns sharply and enters his office, Shipley watching after him in despair.
Hans Heinemann: Face-Eater was right. Shipley will indeed defend against The Educator at the pay-per-view!
Miguel Rodriguez: But he no seem too happy ‘bout it.
Andy Murray vs Red Rock
STIPULATION: SINGLES
REFEREE: AARON DAVIES
AUTHOR: DAVE LARKIN
Hans Heinemann: So, here we are at last. It’s the main event of Fresh!burst and already I’m becoming bored of your collective company. Do you realise this is only the third match of the show?
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: Yeah, you obviously lack taste. POTATOES!
Miguel Rodriguez: I’ve got a taste for potatoes. I especially like those little ones with the skin peeled off. They look like testicles!
Hans Heinemann: You’ve successfully ruined my appetite forever…
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: I think that was the general idea.
Miguel Rodriguez: It’s the final match before AWC’s Battle of Britain, folks, and it’s happening… right now!
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: Introducing first, from Aberdeen, Scotland, 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, Andy 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 Andy stands in the centre of the ring, ready to go.
Hans Heinemann: Hang on one second. Why does he call himself “The Scottish King of Cool”? The name flatters him without question.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: Personally, I dig Andy Murray. The guy’s a great man, Hans.
Miguel Rodriguez: Andy Murray promised me he’d take a quick look at my beeeg boy if I behaved myself tonight. I better be good…
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 hits 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
... and Red Rock bursts out from behind the curtain with huge amounts of energy. Boolie comes out swiftly afterwards and stand with his hands on his hips.
So now you’re backed in a corner,
you’re under verbal attack
they’re pointing fingers like guns in your face and
nobody’s got your back
James Brunt: And his opponent, from Aldershot, England, weighing in at 197 pounds and being accompanied to the ring by Boolie… RED ROCK!
Red Rock walks down to the ring with a cheeky smile on his face giving members or the crowd a nod and a thumbs up but making an effort not to touch anyone. Red Rock reaches the ring and pulls himself up on to the apron and hops over the top rope and poses to the crowd, pouting with his hand on his hip.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: And here’s his opponent, FREDROCK~!
Hans Heinemann: Actually, it’s Red Rock, someone whose name sounds remarkably like FREDROCK~! So you’re wrong, Dave. WRONG!
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: POTATOES!
Miguel Rodriguez: BEEEG BOY!
Hans Heinemann: Erm, what just happened?
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: You started shouting at me, so I responded in kind. You… you German bum!
Hans Heinemann: Concentrate on the match or you’ll be out of a job.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: (mockingly) Please stop, or I’ll start crying.
Murray sizes up the eccentric Red Rock as he readies himself for the upcoming contest on the opposite side of the ring. Murray looks composed as ever, while Red Rock also takes on a more relaxed approach. The bell rings to get the match underway.
Hans Heinemann: Give us a good main event, guys. No fancy stuff.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: I want to see fancy stuff!
Miguel Rodriguez: I’d rather see my beeeg boy on the wide screen.
Murray and Red Rock tie up in the middle of the ring, with Murray gaining the advantage. Murray pushes Red Rock back into the corner and delivers a couple of knife-edge chops to his chest. Red Rock retaliates with some of his own, then surprises Murray with an arm wrench and a hip toss to take him down. The energetic Scot bounds back to his feet, but Red Rock has him scouted and knocks him down with a shoulder block. The quick cover…
ONE!
Murray kicks out in a flash, and the two men get back to their feet. The fans applaud the stand-off between them.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: My Irish brethren applauding these men’s valiant efforts.
Miguel Rodriguez: I’ve never heard you speak so well, Dave. Maybe being home does that to you.
Hans Heinemann: I doubt that very much. Dave’s got the vocabulary of a stick.
Murray and Red Rock tie up once again. This time Murray goes around behind Red Rock and pummels his back. Murray delivers an awesome german suplex across the ring to Red Rock. Murray then takes Red Rock down with a sidewalk slam. Murray ventures to no man’s land as Red Rock lies prone in the middle of the ring.
Hans Heinemann: Red Rock is at Murray’s mercy.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: Just like you’ll be at the mercy of these Irish fans when you leave the arena. They have a whole anti-Hans convention here, you know.
Miguel Rodriguez: And a pro-Miguel one, too!
Murray stands atop the top rope, but Red Rock quickly gets up to his feet and acrobatically delivers a fisherman suplex off the top rope to Murray. The show of speed causes the crowd to come to their feet in support of Red Rock. Both men lie in the middle of the ring, fatigued even after only a few minutes of action.
Hans Heinemann: What an amazing move by Red Rock. I’m not a fan of the guy, but that was impressive.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: Did you hear the “Aaaaaah” from the fans here in DOOOOOBLIN~!
Miguel Rodriguez: Oh yeah, they’ve having fun. I bet half of them are drunk, though, thus enhancing their experience.
Murray rolls onto his belly and somehow manages to cover Red Rock, but Red Rock bounces back with a thumb to the eye. Red Rock is back to his feet quickly, picking Murray up after him. Red Rock whips Murray off the ropes, but the Scot’s big boot sends Red Rock flying. Murray drags Red Rock into the middle of the ring and locks on a sleeper hold. Red Rock, isolated from the escape route of the ropes, grits his teeth and tries to withstand the pressure.
Hans Heinemann: It’s no surprise that these fans are supporting Red Rock. It’s probably because Murray is Scottish, and the Irish dislike the Scots. Am I right, Dave?
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: Nope. We Irish have a camaraderie with the Scots. It’s the English we hate!
Miguel Rodriguez: I love feuds over nationality.
Hans Heinemann: But Red Rock is English, you know.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: Then really they shouldn’t be supporting him…
Miguel Rodriguez: Irish people must be stupid or terribly misinformed.
Red Rock just manages to fight out of the sleeper hold, nailing Murray in the mid section with elbows. Red Rock takes Murray down with a snap mare, and follows it up with a dropkick to the back of the head. Red Rock makes the cover.
ONE!
TWO!
Murray kicks out just before three. The chants for Red Rock have now disappeared, only to be replaced by chants for Murray. Red Rock picks Murray up to his feet and delivers a standing dropkick to the face. Boos fill the arena as Red Rock looks out to the crowd in utter confusion. Red Rock bounces off the ropes and catches Murray with a running bulldog, smashing his face against the canvas.
Hans Heinemann: That’ll rearrange his facial features!
Miguel Rodriguez: Something he badly needs. He obviously doesn’t believe in moisturising.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: And you do, Miggy?
Miguel Rodriguez: From time to time, every man succumbs to it.
Red Rock, now in full control, looks to finish Murray off. However, Murray counters what Red Rock has in mind, taking Red Rock down with a dragon suplex. Red Rock folds up like an accordion and Murray seizes his opportunity. Murray lifts a groggy Red Rock up and delivers a breathtaking power bomb right in the middle of the ring. Red Rock’s back connects with the canvas with a sickening thud. Murray makes the cover.
ONE!
TWO!
Red Rock somehow kicks out of the predicament, but the damage has been done. Murray picks Red Rock up, hoping to end it quickly with the Highland Hangover. However, Red Rock counters the finishing move and delivers an impact DDT to Murray, making him land on the top of his head.
Hans Heinemann: Andy Murray may never be the same again after that death-defying move by Red Rock.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: Landed right on his head. POTATOES! The drama…
Miguel Rodriguez: The fans here in Dublin are actually having a tiny orgasm.
Red Rock cannot make the cover on the possibly unconscious Murray, unfortunately. Murray’s eyes are glazed over, but the Scot is still in this match. Murray stands up, albeit with a little help from the ropes. Red Rock takes Murray by the arm and whips him against the ropes. Murray ducks the attempted clothesline, and nails Red Rock with an impressive neck breaker.
Hans Heinemann: The tempo of this match has stepped up a gear, if that was even possible.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: The fans here in Dublin accept nothing less than top drawer wrestling. Watch them cheer and put pressure on these superstars to perform.
Miguel Rodriguez: Ooooh… pressure on my beeeeg boy that can’t be measured with a barometer!
Murray recovers surprisingly quickly, and takes Red Rock down with a clothesline. Murray goes to the second rope and lands straight on Red Rock’s sternum with a splash. Murray makes the cover, though he can’t hook the leg.
ONE!
TWO!
Red Rock kicks out, but only a split second before the three count. The fatigue starts to kick in for both men now as they get back to their feet. Despite Murray landing on his head from Red Rock’s earlier DDT, he seems to be the better off of the two. Red Rock runs at Murray, hoping to hit a shoulder block. Murray dodges it and swivels around Red Rock with ease. Murray then catches Red Rock off guard, lifting him up for a vertical suplex.
Hans Heinemann: Murray’s looking for the Highland Hangover!
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: Isn’t that his finishing move?
Miguel Rodriguez: The crowd are going ape! They want to see this!
Murray lets loose with the Highland Hangover, and Red Rock is sprawled on the mat. Murray makes the cover on the motionless Red Rock.
ONE!
TWO!
THREE!
Hans Heinemann: And it’s a victory for the Scot tonight. I couldn’t care less who the victor is, though. We’re looking forward to the Battle of Britain now.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: When do you think we’ll be in Dublin next?
Miguel Rodriguez: With ugly crowds like this, not anytime soon.
Murray has his hand raised in victory by Aaron Davies. Murray can barely stand on his own two feet, though, and falls clumsily against the ropes. Murray gets a nice reception from the Irish fans as he heads up the rampway.
Fresh!man
FEATURING: DAVID "PEARL" HARBER, JAMES BRUNT
AUTHOR: DAVE LARKIN
Suddenly, “Bohemian Like You” plays over the uncomfortably loud P.A. system in the Tallaght Arena, meaning only one thing: Pearl has arrived. AWC’s Entertainment Manager appears from behind the curtain and walks briskly down the ramp way, nodding and acknowledging the positive response from the Irish fans. Andy Murray is still in the ring celebrating his victory. Murray reacts with surprise as Pearl enters the ring and his music fades out.
Hans Heinemann: Oh, what a pleasant surprise. Pearl’s here to ruin the mood.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: Pearl’s got shiny teeth. Anyone ever notice that? They could be fake, sure, but they’re just… so… shiny.
Miguel Rodriguez: My beeeeg boy is also shiny when wet. I love things that glimmer…
Pearl pats Murray on the shoulder and nods to the man who has just won his fourth successive match in AWC. The crowd give Murray and Pearl a wonderful reception. Judging from the chants of “Fresh!man”, it seems everyone in the crowd believes Andy Murray is this week’s Fresh!man.
Pearl: Andy Murray… what a performance you just put in against Red Rock. This is, incase you’re not aware, your fourth win in AWC. You have yet to lose a match. Add to that your obvious talent and you’ve got quite a combination.
Applause from the crowd as Murray acts modestly following Pearl’s praise of him.
Pearl: Over the past few weeks since your debut, you’ve impressed not only me, but your peers here in AWC. Nobody can deny you deserve the title of Fresh!man this week! So, in short, you’ve got it. Congratulations!
There is a huge pop from the crowd who seem to have developed a fondness for the Scot.
Hans Heinemann: So Andy Murray is the Fresh!man this week. I wonder what that oaf James Brunt will pull out of his hat.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: I’m just waiting for a rabbit to come out one day. That’ll be hilarious! GUINNESS~!
Miguel Rodriguez: Here he comes…
James Brunt hands Pearl the now-famous TOP HAT O’ DOOM~! Pearl reaches into the hat and picks out a card with a picture of the Frontier championship on it. Murray peers over and pumps his fist in the air in delight. Pearl spots his enthusiasm and shakes his hand in congratulations.
Pearl: As you’ve seen, Andy, you’ve won a contendership spot for the coveted Frontier championship. Well done!
“Bat Country” by Avenged Sevenfold plays on the P.A. system to a massive pop from the Irish fans. Murray heads back up the ramp way to his own music as Pearl stays behind to thank the fans with a series of bows and waves.
Hans Heinemann: Man, what a lick.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: How can you say that about Pearl?! He’s the man!
Miguel Rodriguez: My role model, anyway…
Varga On AWC
FEATURING: JAMES VARGA
AUTHOR: JAMES VARGA
Backstage, James Varga is in the AWC interview area. A big AWC logo banner is behind him and he's wearing a white "I (heart) Ewoks" T-shirt on with Crimson O'Malec airbrushed on the back. It's absolutely hilarious. Varga smiles for the camera. It's just him and a microphone now. No characters, no Giant Sperms, no Horny Mathematicians. Just him and the audience.
James Varga: Now, I bet all of you out there in the audience and watching at home are wondering what exactly as my thinking when me and all of my characters came on the AWC television program a few weeks ago and took over.
Varga brushes his hair back.
James Varga: I feel a bit silly about the way I acted and in order for you to understand what my thinking was and why I did what I did, you must first understand that when I was growing up, I was the world's biggest wrestling fan.
A slight smile comes across James' face.
James Varga: Then, when I grew up, I became a wrestler and you know what happened? I found out that wrestling wasn't what it seemed. Wrestling was FAKE!
Varga nods his head and brushes his hair back.
James Varga: This isn't a sport! It's just bunch of men and women in tights prancing around a ring like a bunch of ballerinas!
James starts to go from calm and rather sullen to slightly demented and feral within seconds.
James Varga: BUT PEOPLE DON'T GIVE A DAMN! THE AWC IS ONE OF THE REASONS PEOPLE HATE THE WRESTLING BUSINESS! YOUR BEST WRESTLER IS A FUCKING MIDGET WHO LOST HIS SMILE FOR CRYING OUT LOUD!
James suddenly then goes back to being calm and composed again.
James Varga: Midget wrestling is one thing that makes people frown upon professional wrestling. It demeans the sport as a whole, if you can call it a sport that is.
Varga smiles.
James Varga: You see David Harber, I came on your wrestling program and took over. Not because I wanted to, but because I HAD to. I had to save the people from the horror that the AWC has become. You have that SELL-OUT Red Rock who jumped ship from the UWF. You have some DUMBASS Farmer coming out here dressed in overalls. You have some FUCKING IDIOT called The Illustrious Face-Eater come out here and act like a moron! And you all call this professional wrestling?
James looks like he's about to break into tears at this point.
James Varga: What the hell has wrestling become? I remember the days when Mantaur and Waylon Mercy were the rule. Wrestling almost DIED because of gimmicks like those. And now the AWC and all of these other promotions go and bring back the gimmicks. BRING BACK THE CLOWNS!
Varga suddenly now is about to burst into laughter.
James Varga: That's because it's all a big joke. Wrestling is viewed as a joke. We're nothing more than circus performers to the sheep in the audience. I came on the AWC television program and tried to save wrestling from its own worst enemy: ITSELF.
Varga has a slight smirk on his face now and is looking ever more demented with every word spoken from his mouth.
James Varga: But that's OK. I get to turn on the television last week and watch Pierce Lavelle come on here and rally a bunch of dumb Irish PRIME wanna-bes to try and take me down. Well Pierce, you don't have the biggest penis here.
James shakes his head.
James Varga: No. That honor goes to Ellis Nash. Why? Because from what I hear, she's a man baby and you two are going to put together the next Sean Waltman/Joanie Laurer sex tape...
Varga cackles to himself.
James Varga: Pierce, you don't want to fuck with me. Oh no. You don't want to fuck with James Varga. 28 championship wins in under three years should show you that you don't want to fuck with me. But it's all a big joke Pierce. HA HA. The AWC, where we wanna-be PRIME but instead we got our ass handed to us by James Varga.
James brushes his hair back as he has a laugh over his last comment.
James Varga: So Pierce, now that you understand the reasoning behind my little "excursion" here to the AWC, maybe you'll understand that I was merely trying to HELP a fledgling promotion such as the AWC get some media exposure and earn some new fans. Oh, but of course nobody will want to hear it because I'm the heel in this storyline.
Varga shakes his head.
James Varga: No. Breaking kayfabe is a no-no. What's Dave Harber going to do? Fire me over the phone like Eric Bischoff did to Steve Austin? I'M NOT EVEN EMPLOYED HERE! WHY SHOULD ALL OF YOU GIVE A DAMN ABOUT ME? WHY SHOULD ALL OF YOU GIVE A SHIT ABOUT THE MAN WHO IS OUT TO SAVE... (suddenly turns calm) professional wrestling.
An uneasy calm comes over James, like when a storm is about to hit.
James Varga: Pierce, don't make me hurt you. Don't make me do it. All that I ask is that you put on your little tights, put on your little panties, and let's get in the ring and settle this like men. No more invasion nWo bullshit. No more locker room rallies to help your cause. No more talking. Let's just get in the ring and see who the better man is. You put your AWC Transatlantic championship on the line and I'll come on (points to the camera) YOUR show and I'll kick your ass, or, as you people in the nether regions spell it, ARSE. It's that simple. Imagine the headlines then. “An outside wrestler, James Varga, has won the AWC championship!”
Varga turns to the camera and smiles.
James Varga: Well, blimey. That would give the AWC the attention it REALLY needs. Now Pierce, I am but a mere wrestler. What damage can I do to a promotion? So you take the ball. Or, in your case, the balls and accept my challenge. I'm merely trying to help you and your feeble friends out. (smirks) No one here can touch me. NO ONE. Not the lesbians, not the farmers, not the Horny Mathematicians. So let's settle in the ring and let me show you and everyone watching at home just who the better man is... ME.
I Grab A Moment Like A Thief And Then I Make It Mine
FEATURING: DAVID "PEARL" HARBER, SCIENTISTS, THE ILLUSTRIOUS FACE-EATER
AUTHOR: MR. CLARKE
It was a long night.
Fresh!burst was almost off the air, and David Harber was returning from his office having announced the night's Fresh!man. As he turned a corner, though, he found that the familiar sight of a barren hallway was not apparent.
Instead, the hallways were littered with people, dozens of them, all coated in plastic suits that covered their whole bodies. The people also breathed with the luxury of oxygen masks, leaving anyone unsuspecting to think this were a scene directly from the movie Outbreak.
Scientist-like folks were roaming the halls with all sorts of gadgets, making various tests checking the apparent health on AWC's staff and fans. Harber squeezed between a few "scientists", wishing to escape the madness that constantly plagued him if only to enter his office for a few private moments.
As Harber approached his office, though, he noticed the rather large gathering of people shrouded in plastic, all making a commotion towards his own area. When he reached his office door and managed to spread the masses away from it, he found the entire area to be shielded off in a plastic bubble. Various scientists read clipboards near by, obviously measuring readings!
Harber, though, had finally had enough.
Pearl: What the hell is going on here?
Scientist 1: We're sorry, sir, but there's been an outbreak in this area of the arena. A deadly organism was spreading, but we have it quarantined and we're doing the best we can to solve the problem.
Pearl: …the hell are you talking about, "deadly organisms”? This is a sports arena, not a nuclear waste dump!
Another man reading a clipboard, between deep breaths from his oxygen mask, interjected.
Scientist 2: Please understand, sir, that in these situations we take matters seriously and with the utmost precaution. Your safety is what's important here, and right now we're fixing the matters at hand.
Pearl shook his head, almost in disgust, almost in annoyance. He began to head for his office anyways, ignoring the plastic barrier that separated him.
Scientist 2: Sir! You can't go in there! That's a highly contaminated area, and if you were to enter you would be infected.
Pearl: BUT THAT'S MY OFFICE! How am I supposed to run my promotion without my office!
Scientist 1: Well, maybe you should see the man in charge.
Pearl: I AM IN FUCKING CHARGE! This whole ordeal seems rather ridiculous. I am asking you, honestly, what kind of non-sense would warrant the quarantine of a small section in a large public building?
Voice: WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH YOU PEOPLE?!?! THAT MAN IS INFECTED AND IS HIGHLY CONTAGIOUS!
In a moment, that one call sent everyone in to a panic. The two scientists talking to Harber were struck with fear, and stood frozen. They had no idea how to react. David, however, was more confused. And then he was tackled to the ground with force, by people in plastic, them all dragging him to a corner of the science expedition.
The person who called out came in to Harber's clear view, as they shoved him inside his own office. The person stepped in as well, the door was locked and the plastic was sealed.
Pearl: WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON, FACE-EATER?
Face-Eater: I AM MERELY EXERCISING MY RIGHT AS A HUMAN BEING TO PERFORM A PUBLIC SERVICE! There was something afoul going on in this arena tonight, and it happened right here. I am here to rectify this situation!
Pearl: I don't have any idea of what you –
Face-Eater: You know EXACTLY what it is I speak of. You know of the TORMENT I caused Tim Shipley, and now you choose to not let him seek vengeance?
Harber began to smile. Although it was humorous to see Facey visibly hot from wearing his own mask, as well as the plastic suit that kept him, uh, "cleansed and pure", this wasn't why Pearl was smiling.
Pearl: You want a title shot, eh?
Face-Eater: NO! You confuse me with Amy Silveira. I prefer the glory of destroying Tim Shipley after he's reached his own peak. I would not prefer my efforts of the past month to be ignored so easily. It could cause some… inconveniences.
Pearl: I turned your match down, Face-Eater, because you're too green. Need more airtime.
Face-Eater: I feel that the words "Red", "Rock", and "Talentless" come to mind, Harb, and when those words come to mind so does the word "JUSTIFICATION."
Harber sort of kicked himself. Facey decided to reiterate his point, just to be concrete.
Face-Eater: WOW IT'S STILL A LITTLE DISEASED IN HERE, OR IS IT JUST ME?! Nope, it's you, Harb! Well, looks like we're going to have to perform our tests; see what phase the infection has on your body! We know that you can't make decisions for the better of your company, you’re so sick you're booking crappy matches! It's a wonder we caught you just in time –
Pearl: FINE! Fine, you're in the match. But you're facing The Educator, too.
Face-Eater: Who?
Pearl: You're facing Tim Shipley and The Educa-
Face-Eater: WHO!?!?!
The fans booed at his perfect execution of the most annoying interruption.
Face-Eater: Do not fret, Harb. I know of your conditions. And do not worry, that belt will not be in The Educator's hands. I'll even make sure he fucks up your little main event as well. But I can't say that you will like that belt in my hands either.
Pearl: Just leave, and take this ridiculous display with you.
The Face-Eater smiled under his plastic, ripping off the outer layer that shrouded him and undoing his oxygen mask. He knocked on the door in a special series, signifying to the security on stand-by that he was ready to leave.
Face-Eater: False alarm, fellas. Let's pack up this material and get the fuck out of here. Be sure to bill the prick in there for the inconvenience!
The feed cuts and attention returns to the announcers at ringside.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: There we have it! It’s now Tim Shipley versus The Educator versus Face-Eater for the Frontier title.
Hans Heinemann: All I can say to you all is order The Battle Of Britain on pay-per-view! 19th August 2005 should be in your diaries, because it’s going to be one hell of a night.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: The Livewire championship, the Relentless championship, the Frontier championship, the Transatlantic championship, as well as national pride are all on the line. In just one night, you won’t find it anywhere else.
Miguel Rodriguez: It’s good night from us, ladies and gents. So from my beeeg boy, Hans, Dave and I, good night!