Fresh!west Results15th August 2006
A Bort, A Bort! (Sorry)
FEATURING: DAVID "PEARL" HARBER, DRIVER
AUTHOR: ???
Earlier today...
Pearl: Please do try and hurry, Waylon, I'd rather not be late on my last show before the big event.
Driver: Waylon was fired, sir, my name is Bort. And I'm going as fast as I can.
Pearl: Bort? What happened to Waylon?
Driver: Failed his drug-test, sir.
Pearl frowns. He always liked Waylon's attitude and the news of his departure comes somewhat harshly. Sure he knew the kid smoked a little pot here and there, but that's what made him enjoyable during that drive back to the hotel after a stressful night.
Pearl: Well, Bort, pleased to meet you.
As the streetlights rush by quicker and quicker, Pearl can finally rest his eyes and just wait in anticipation as he inches closer to the biggest event of the year. And judging by how the ship has stayed to its course, Pearl has a feeling that all of his hard work these past few months are going to pay off.
Put put put.
The streetlights begin to pass ever so slowly now, each one taking longer than the one before it.
Pearl: What's the matter?
Driver: I don't know, sir. I keep accelerating, but---
Boom. The engine makes a noise that Pearl knows it really shouldn't have made, and now his nerves are shot. Now the pistons have stopped pumping and the car is rolling to a stop, with smoke bellowing from under the hood.
Driver: Yuck, what is that smell?
Pearl: What smell are you tal--- oh my God, WHAT IS THAT SMELL?
Driver: Is that urine?!
Pearl: PWC...?! Don’t tell me...
The driver's door swings open as he covers his mouth to filter the stench. Waving away the steam emanating from the front of the vehicle, he reaches under the hood and pops it open. Just as it rises, so does the no-longer restrained steam, soaking his face in piss vapor.
Driver: Uh, sir, I think you should take a look at this.
Pearl's curiosity more than piqued, he risks his life by jumping out parked alongside the busy highway to see what the Driver is speaking about. He runs towards the front of the vehicle to see a sight that piques his curiosity even more.
Pearl: What the hell does that mean?
With the piss-fog cleared a message is visible, spray-painted across the scope of the engine. The message clearly indicates to Pearl that this instance is one of sabotage.
Because written across the engine is the simple inscription of two letters...
F.U.
Introduction
FEATURING: TRUTH WATERS, GEORGE CASSIDY
AUTHOR: PIERRE HYDE
The screen goes to black then fizzles to life suddenly, the letters “AWC-West” flashing across in a brilliant white light. A moment of silence dominates, then, backed by “Way Away” by Yellowcard, images of AWC-West’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
A pulsating white light continually lights up the screen, as shots of many Fresh!west superstars in action are shown: AgentDash, Garbage Bag Johnny, Johnny Lexicon.
And even though I know
That everything might go
Go downhill from here
I’m not afraid
A quick collection of highlights from the Anapa Beach show last week flash across the screen as the song moves into its chorus. Pierce Lavelle throwing down his beer and poking Chainz in the chest; Gabriel Afeaki destroying Emo Kid; Sasha Volkyeva looking out over the near-empty beach with despair all over her face.
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
Truth Waters: Hello and welcome to Fresh!west! After two weeks of special beach shows of somewhat mixed success...
George Cassidy: Basically, ours was awesome; theirs wasn’t.
Truth Waters: ...we’re back to a usual show from each side of the Atlantic before we head into Coast To Coast on September 1st! And boy, is it gonna rock this world or what? Two huge main events, one each side of the Atlantic... but now it seems, both featuring the same man?!
George Cassidy: Garbage Bag Johnny has managed to win the number one contendership to BOTH parts of the Transatlantic championship... which puts him in a bit of a tricky position, since he has a match for each on the same night, one right after the other, an ocean apart. He’s going to have to choose to no-show one of them, Truth... there’s no other way!
Truth Waters: Face Adam Dick in Atlantic City or Pierce Lavelle in London... what a choice.
George Cassidy: But that’s weeks away Truth. We’ve got a final Fresh!west show before that... and when I say final, I mean final, because at Coast To Coast Dr. Kasidy Drake will end the AWC roster divide! He’ll choose either Pearl or Sasha to head up AWC as he officially takes control of the company...
Truth Waters: And after more than a few disasters on the Fresh!east side of things, I'm pretty indifferent about stating that we are finally going to be rid of Sasha Volkyeva.
George Cassidy: Pearl’s head is gonna be right up his own ass, you know.
Truth Waters: David Harber back in full charge – man, that’s great. No more of this crap with five-second count-outs, us being out here on the stage, the security fence... bah gawd, things are gonna be back to the way they were!
George Cassidy: But nothing’s definite yet. Dr. Drake could still choose Sasha.
Truth Waters: Right. Harber actually was so pissed at Sasha for making it so competitive last week at Anapa Beach – East vs West, East vs West all the time – that he’s gone behind her back to take three of her stars for tonight’s main event. The Battle On The Barge, for an unspecified prize! It’s gonna feature five AWC-West stars as well as Paddy O’Shea, Darcy Crisis and Aimz from Fresh!east!
George Cassidy: I suppose Pearl’s going to have to choose his team tonight, too, for the East vs West match at Coast To Coast.
Truth Waters: Yes, the battle of midway, aboard a big ocean liner, I'm told. It’s sure to be a great show, fans, so stay tuned for big things!
Bump!
FEATURING: CAPTAIN SULEIMON, WESLEY RENO
AUTHOR: TOM HOLZERMAN
Backstage, we cut to a shot of one Captain Suleimon, walking with an air of pissed-offedness about him. (When's he ever not angry?) As he's stalking down the corridor, he unceremoniously bumps into one Wesley Reno, one-half of his competition for the night in The Coalition. The force stops Suleimon in his tracks and startles Reno.
Reno looks at Suleimon indignantly while Suleimon stares a hole back at Reno. The air is electric.
Wesley Reno: Are you going to say excuse me, or am I going to be standing here for the rest of my life?
Captain Suleimon: Well chap, you can stand there for the rest of your life, but I have business to attend to.
Reno moves in Suleimon's way as the Turk tries to get by him.
Wesley Reno: No, you barreled into me like an inconsiderate buffoon. I'm not going to tolerate it without a little bit of common courtesy.
Captain Suleimon: Courtesy? Bah, courtesy is for the weak-willed, the doormats. Besides, I haven't done a thing wrong.
Wesley Reno: What? You just ran into me! You should watch where you're walking!
Captain Suleimon: Maybe it's you who should watch where you're standing. A high-traffic corridor is no place to be dilly-dallying about.
Reno looks at the Captain with scorn.
Wesley Reno: You know what, you sound pig-headed, just like one of those nasty Republicans. You always have.
Captain Suleimon: And why is that?
Wesley Reno: Because you think you can do whatever you want without reprisal. You think you can barge down hallways like a bulldozer, they think they can start unilateral wars...
Captain Suleimon: Please, don't compare me to such a weak group of jellyfish. You talk about a war. That's no war, that was an unprepared group of arrogant pigs going in and pretending to be a world power.
Reno furrowed his brow and smirked a little bit. He began to think that if Suleimon hated Republicans as much as he did, maybe they could find a little common ground. Alas, Suleimon cut him off...
Captain Suleimon: A truly strong world power would have sent all their military might in and smashed those backward Iraqis into a million little pieces.
Wesley Reno: How... how could you...
Captain Suleimon: Yes, such a reaction is typical. Your party is the only one with less of a backbone than those fraudulent Republicans.
Wesley Reno: How can you say that? No backbone? It takes backbone to stand up for your country and your morality by not going to war, despite what the most ignorant factions of people in this nation may say! People's lives are in danger here! Our reputation... you're...
Captain Suleimon: What, what am I? What label are you going to thrust on me? Whatever it is, it's probably borne in your liberal ideology of how you want to force people to act as you wish. That's not a world I care to live in.
Wesley Reno: Why, so you can oppress people because they don't worship the same god as you do?
Captain Suleimon: If you haven't noticed, I don't worship any god. Liberal slime, so presumptuous. I'm finished with this conversation. I think I'd not like to vomit before I have to wrestle tonight.
The Captain slips past Reno, who looks at him walking away in utter disgust.
A New Challenge
FEATURING: THE FURIOUS FISTS OF GOD
AUTHOR: SAM LANDRY
The scene opens up backstage. Tim Martin is walking briskly through the hallway, Liam following behind.
Tim Martin: Those imbeciles!
Liam Martin: Idiots!
Tim Martin: Les dingues!
Liam Martin: Heathens!
Tim Martin: So we get hit by their bible, eh? Well, this week, things are different. Now, the tides have changed. Now, things are TOUGH!
Liam Martin: How tough, brother?
Tim Martin: This week... we will... HIDE THE BIBLE!
Liam Martin: ...that's not THAT tough...
Tim Martin: QUIET! And until we find the Bible IN OUR POSSESSION... consider the New Black OUT OF THE RUNNING!
Liam Martin: HALLELUJAH!
Tim Martin: Now, c'mon, I gotta take a shit...
Liam Martin: Tim... Tim...
Tim Martin: GET OVER IT!
Bump?
FEATURING: PHIL ALLEN, JACK MURPHY
AUTHORS: DAVE LARKIN AND FERGUS
One half of the up-and-coming team, The Coalition, namely Phil Allen, is strolling down the corridors of the Cajundome, a bottle of Lucozade sports drink in one hand, a fitness magazine in the other. Allen appears to be well prepared for his upcoming match tonight, already dressed in his white tank top and wrestling tights. Allen has a calm demeanor to him as he approaches none other than former AWC Transatlantic champion, Jack Murphy.
Jack Murphy: Well, if it isn’t Philly the sports guru! I take it you’re all pumped and ready for our match tonight?
Allen regards the man before him with something bordering on respect, while Murphy stands confidently, hands on his hips.
Phil Allen: As a matter of fact, Jacky, I certainly am. I’ve got my partner Wes training like an ox in that locker room, and I’d go so far as to say that we’ll be more than a match for you and your little Egyptian pharaoh tonight.
Murphy nods, unable to hide a wry smile after Allen’s comments.
Jack Murphy: Of course, I’m sure you remember our previous encounter in the ring, Phil?
A sudden pang of realization hits Allen as he puts the pieces together and remembers the man before him, Jack Murphy, as a man he wrestled many years ago.
Jack Murphy: Yes, if I’m not mistaken, I beat you. I can still remember the three count, the referee’s voice calling time on your lackluster career. Do you honestly believe you’ll be able to revive that career you once had with a tag team partner who has politics on the brain twenty-four seven?
Allen takes a swig of his sports drink, edges closer to Murphy, who stands four inches taller than him, and locks eyes with the former Transatlantic champion.
Phil Allen: I enjoy stories, Jacky, especially about the past. It fires me up, that kind of thing. I’m all about motivational tactics, you see, and recalling that defeat to you all those years ago just makes me want to beat you that little bit more than before. Now, what I want to know is, do you honestly believe you can beat The Coalition by teaming with a half-wit known as Captain Suleimon?
Murphy and Allen’s eyes remain locked, neither man relenting. The intensity is almost tangible in the corridor.
Jack Murphy: We’ll wait and see, I suppose. Maybe tonight we’ll settle this and find out just who the better man is.
Phil Allen: Maybe we will…
Without another word, the two men go their separate ways, Allen heading towards his locker room, while Jack Murphy makes haste to his own.
Rebuilding Lebanon
FEATURING: PADDY O'SHEA, RED ROCK
AUTHOR: MICHAEL DOHERTY
Things had been tough for Patrick O’Shea. At 35 years-old, he really should have seen it all. Should have seen every angle they came at, should have seen the left field attack and countered with a flank.
He thought he had. He’d been fucked around by wrestling promotions since he first stepped between the ropes (“Do the Leprechaun thingy Paddy, go on, ham it up a bit”) and he’d taken the falls. He’d sailed from indie promotion to indie promotion, revered for a while then dropped like a hamster in the oven. He’d seen his family dragged into his life, been the victim of crazed psychopaths. He’d been dragged from titles with fingertips outstretched. He’d had girlfriends, teammates turn on him. Even seen them die.
But he never thought he’d see this. For every time, Paddy O’Shea looked himself in the mirror, he seen a man scared and broken, afraid to acknowledge himself for fear he’d bring up memories he swore he’d forget.
He’d taped up his scarred wrists, the fruits of an unsuccessful suicide. AWC didn’t need to know. AWC wouldn’t care anyway.
He hated them. He hated everyone in it. Dave Harber had been a friend to him and Paddy had busted his balls in the ring every week to get him the ratings. Then he dropped him like that. Sickened with the fact his sister had taken an interest in the Irishman, Harber booked him in a Loser Leaves Town match with Mike Wade. And he had lost.
Harber didn’t even pat him on the shoulder.
Just like everyone else in this fucking federation, he turned his back and left Paddy O’Shea in the gutter. Only when Mike Wade announced his retirement to Paddy see an opportunity to come back. And he had to beg for it. Harber dangled it on a string for him. Gratitude was the shortest of human feelings Paddy was found of muttering in days gone by. And how true it was today.
Fuck Harber, fuck the wrestlers, fuck AWC. He thought he had friends. Red Rock never said goodbye, Pierce Lavelle never said goodbye, Kris Krimzon never said goodbye. They left him to his poverty as he scrambled to make enough money for food at the end of the week.
If only his principles were as strong as his hunger, he wouldn’t even be in this hole.
All these thoughts and all these reckonings were being focused now as Paddy jabbed at the punch bag erected in AWC gym. Quick hook, short uppercut. He seen all their faces now… the people that had bestowed such misery on him and as he nailed home again and again, the pain subsided temporarily.
“Yo Paddy old chap, how’s it hanging?”
Red Rock. His old “friend”. Paddy considered shitting his mind all over Red Rock right there and then. But he refrained; it would be “immature”. Plus, he wanted the bastard to know he was finished with him and so he remained silent.
Red Rock: Paddy? Come on man, don’t tell me you’re ignoring me.
Paddy nailed the punch bag extra hard again so that it spun off to the left. That should get the point across.
Red Rock: Look dude. I know you’ve had a rough time what with losing the job and all but I’ve got your back now. Come on mate, let’s go looking for thongs in the women’s changing room.
Paddy couldn’t hold back now.
Paddy O'Shea: Aye… aye’m sure ye’ve got me back. But when they left me on me arse, did ye have me back then? Did the cock crow after ye rejected me three times Red?
Red Rock: Jesus man, I don’t have a clue what the FUCK you’re talking about. Look man, I’m worried about you… you’ve been back a month and all you do is come in, fight and go. You’re not yourself.
Paddy O'Shea: Aye don’t want t’ be in this place any longer than aye have t’.
Red Rock: Don’t be like that! We had fun here.
Paddy stopped jabbing for one second. Turning his head so he was staring at Red, he looked past the genuine concern and let his mouth do the talking.
Paddy O'Shea: Piss off Red, ye didn’t need me so aye don’t need you.
Red Rock: But---
Paddy O'Shea: PISS OFF!
Red held his gaze for another few moments then shrugged and began to walk away.
Red Rock: Fine Paddy… but one of these days, you’re going to have to wind your neck in and stop being a misery case.
Paddy ignored him. He would never know what true misery was he assured himself.
And then he felt like crying.
Suleimon/Murphy vs The Coalition
STIPULATION: DUO TAG - ALLIANCE TOURNAMENT
REFEREE:
AUTHOR: KRIS (KLONE)
The clinical riff of 'Burn' by Throwdown fills the arena and begins an extended loop as the house lights dim to a dull, crimson red. As the flick of the lighter is heard around the arena and the riff explodes.
Geroge Cassidy: Jack Murphy coming out and making his way to the ring, a mixed reaction from the crowd here tonight.
The Turkish Art by Mozzart begins to play as the crowd immediately reacts to the appearance of Captain Suleimon.
Truth Waters:Suleimon not so well received, I'll be interested to see how these two pair up against The Coalition.
Eye of the Tiger by Survivor starts it's unmistakable melody and The Coalition make their appearance to a rousing cheer.
George Cassidy:Wesley Reno and Phil Allen coming down to the ring looking ready and willing to get business done. This is their field of play and their element.
Truth Waters:Reno stepping in with Jack Murphy to start things fresh, no pun intended.
George Cassidy:Murphy opening with a hard forearm and follows with a serious of fast right hands, Phil Allen in the ring and the referee is distracted.
Captain Suleimon quickly dives into the ring and gives Reno a shot from behind, Murphy gives him a few stomps as the referee turns on The Captain. Murphy drops an elbow on Reno, rolls off and makes a quick tag to Suleimon as he pulls Reno into a standing position.
Truth Waters:Early game plan being executed by Murphy and Suleimon.
George Cassidy:Suleimon is eager to get his hands dirty as he and Jack send Reno for a ride into the ropes, Reno ducks the clothesline!
Truth Waters:Allen with an impeccable missile drop kick and Murphy is down!
Reno hammers Suleimon with rights and throws him into the corner, he charges in but The Captain gives him a boot to the face for his trouble and comes out firing. Reno backs up as the rings is cleared out, Suleimon with a hip toss, Reno recovers and The Captain his another. Reno makes the tag and Allen charges in with a sharp clothesline.
George Cassidy:Reno saw The Captain was on his back and ditched.
Truth Waters:Reno coming in full of steam and begging Murphy to come play. The Captain with a quick roll up!
George Cassidy:It was a slick chance but he's only gonna get a two count and Phil is on him with lefts and rights.
Allen powers Suleimon into the ropes before sending him for the other side, he comes off fast but rolls under a big boot.
Truth Waters:Suleimon saw that coming a mile away and makes a tag to Murphy.
George Cassidy:Double team chance here for the duo of Jack Murphy and Captain Suleimon, huge double suplex and Allen is on his back.
Reno comes out of his corner fast and clotheslines Captain Suleimon into the ropes, both men tumble over to the outside as Murphy pulls Allen to his feet and hits him with a hard right hand. Allen answers with one of his own but Murphy comes back again and again. Murphy gets hold of Allens arm and gives it a twist. Allen angles his shoulder in pain.
Truth Waters:Both men are back in their corners after a breif skirmish on the outside.
George Cassidy:Murphy has Phil in a bad spot here and looking capitalize.
Murphy gives Phil a boot to the kidneys before wrenching on his arm, Allen reaches for the corner but it's too far, Murphy gives his arm a twist. Phil rolls forward suddenly, pulls his legs in and kicks to his feet.
George Cassidy:Murphy practically let him out of that one!
Allen hammers Murphy with a hard right, a left, he grabs his arm and sends him running into the ropes, Captain Suleimon jumps off the apron to avoid him. Allen catches Murphy on the way back, holds the back of his head and plants his face into the mat. Reno comes off the top rope on perfect cue and hits the leg drop just as Suleimon slides into the ring. Allen rolls Murphy onto his back, The Captain charges but Reno grabs him, belly to belly suplex! The ref makes his count.
Truth Waters:One, two, and three makes The Coalition winners tonight.
Eye of the Tiger hits as Allen and Reno raise the arms for a cheering crowd.
This Food Is Garbage(d)
FEATURING: ELLIS NASH, TECHIES, PADDY O'SHEA
AUTHOR: ???
In a rare moment for a person of Ellis Nash's... mold, she found herself a craving for self-indulgence. Yes, in preparation for the big match on the Trash Heap, the former Frontier champion found it necessary to find the catering area in search for the most delicious candy ever to grace existence; the Riesen.
Delicious, creamy chocolate-flavored caramel surrounded by a layer of dark chocolate and wrapped in the dreams of children, this shit is seriously made by Gods on Mount Olympus.
Ellis Nash: Yummm, Riesens.
As she passes through the halls, she happens to cross paths with a few dissatisfied customers.
Techie #1: Who would ruin the food like that?
Techie #2: An asshole; THAT's who.
Both workers are so pissed that they don't even care to divert paths with miss Nash and send their shoulders colliding.
Ellis Nash: Assholes...
Then she continues down the hall to investigate their disappointing comments.
She passes a few doors and reaches the end of the corridor to find an open space, complete with three long tables all decorated with food. Fruit tables. Desserts. Finger Foods. Lobster Tails.
At first glance, everything appears perfect. A smorgasbord of delicious artifacts to grace her empty tummy. But as she approaches, there is a foul stench that reaches her nostrils...
The stench... of Mustard.
Ellis Nash: What the fuck?
As she takes a closer look at the table, it's just as she suspected.
THE ENTIRE CATERING AREA; COVERED WITH MUSTARD.
The Watermelon, the Shrimp platters, the Vegetable Medley, the Roasted Turkey, the Strawberry Shortcake.
Ellis Nash: Please, no, not the Riesens...
She rushes around the area, frantically searching for the object of her affection. Then it pops right in front of her. A bowl filled to the brim with Riesens. Only, it's covered in mustard.
In fact, there is more mustard on the Riesens than there is on the other food.
Ellis Nash: NOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!! Why?! I mean, seriously, like, what the fuck? NO ONE likes mustard enough to put it on EVERYTHING. Who the hell is going to eat all this shit?
From the same corridor that Ellis came from, in walks a very somber and depressed looking Paddy O'Shea.
Depressed and somber, that is, until he sees the food covered in Mustard.
Paddy O’Shea: MUSTARD!
Paddy rushes towards the table and begins eating items at random, covering himself with mustard and food residue. The more than disgusted Ellis begins to take her leave from the catering area...
Until something on the floor catches her eye.
Ellis Nash: F.U.?
Spelled across the floor in a mass amount of mustard, is the formation of the initials F.U.
Are we starting to see a pattern here?
Keep Your Hands Off!
FEATURING: TERESA TOMAS, TRACY STANTON, CHAINZ
AUTHORS: SONYA AND MIKE S.
Teresa Tomas sat in her locker room, sipping from a bottle of Jack. Despite the bottle of whiskey, she was still rather pleasant as she sat in a tight top getting ready for her big match against Chainz. She seemed worried and slightly concerned; who wouldn’t be knowing that in a matter of minutes they would be face to face with the monster of the AWC.
The door creaked open and a familiar voice filled the room.
Tracy Stanton: Look who we have here, the boyfriend stealer herself.
Teresa stopped drinking her liquor and set it down on the ground. She cleared her throat and got up, standing face to face with Tracy. Despite being nearly fifty pounds heavier she found herself looking up at Tracy, though it was due to a nice pair of six inch heels that Tracy wore which made her thin figure seem even frailer.
Teresa Tomas: What's your problem with me?
Tracy folded her arms across her chest and narrowed her eyes at Teresa.
Tracy Stanton: My problem is I know women like you. You pretend like you’re a loner, like you’re not interested in anybody or anything, but it’s all a front. I saw the way you looked at Chainz back when and now I see the same look when Pierce walks by. Stay away from Michael and from Pierce, they’re both taken.
Teresa chuckled as she sat back down, not amused in the least.
Teresa Tomas: All that silicone has gone to your head dear. I have no intentions on taking Pierce or Chainz away from either you or Sarah. It was all just a big misunderstanding.
Tracy Stanton: Right, and I can take the word of a drunk, disgusting, redneck like you.
Teresa’s grin disappeared from her face.
Teresa Tomas: You insulting me? Look at you!
Tracy Stanton: You wish you had my looks, my looks drive men wild while your looks make them want to chuck you a football or pay you to mow their lawns.
Teresa Tomas: Please, I bet when the wind blows you fall over. Lucky you got those airbags or your face would get a beating, than again it might help.
Tracy Stanton: At least I have tits you fat pig.
Teresa Tomas: I’m not fat, maybe you should try eating something so you could at least keep your back straight. Why would I want to weigh 90 pounds and be constantly leaning over with half of my weight in my tits.
Tracy Stanton: For your information I weigh 102 pounds.
Teresa Tomas: Oooooohhh, my bad.
Teresa shook her hands like she was scared as she walked to her bag and dug around, bringing out a roll of tape.
Tracy Stanton: You disgust me, you give all us women a bad name. You have no sex appeal, no fashion sense, and no manners. You belong in a mud pit with the rest of pigs, wallowing in your own filth.
Teresa Tomas: Alright, that's it. Get the hell outta here; we have nothin' else to talk about.
Tracy wasn’t a bad person, in fact she was one of the kindest people in the AWC, but she truly despised Teresa. She was a jealous woman and when she saw other women try to steal her man she found it reprehensible.
Tracy Stanton: Getting on your nerves huh?
Teresa Tomas: You get on everyone’s nerves. The only reason people put up with you is because the AWC roster is full of horny perverts like Jeremy, all they want to do is bone you.
Tracy Stanton: No, I’m friendly and people like me because I’m interesting and funny and nice.
Teresa Tomas: Riiiggghhht, keep telling yourself that.
Tracy spotted the bottle of Jack.
Tracy Stanton: Drinking again huh, and alone too. Keep downing that booze because it’s the only friend you’ll ever have.
Teresa had had enough. Without warning she clocked Tracy in the face knocking the tall beauty to the ground. Tracy held her eye and cheek in astonishment as she looked up at Teresa from the ground.
Teresa immediately regretted throwing the punch. Tracy had gotten under her nerves, but she shouldn’t have let it get to her. Now Tracy remained on the ground looking more hurt than once punch should do, but Teresa knew she was in the wrong still. She was a professional wrestler and Tracy wasn’t. More than that, Tracy was a frail and fragile woman, who barely weighed 100 pounds. She could have really hurt her and she immediately felt remorse as she saw Tracy struggle back to her feet, still holding her cheek.
Tracy Stanton: Figures someone like you would resort to violence.
Tracy walked out of the room and closed the door behind her. Teresa sat down with a sigh, and drank some more booze. She heard some voices from outside her door and she immediately felt her heart sink.
Chainz stormed through the door and stood in front of Teresa. She rose about to explain herself, but before she got a chance her throat was firmly in the grasp of Michael Sloan. He backed her up and slammed her into a wall, lifting her in the air with one hand.
Chainz: You ever touch my girl again and I’ll fucking kill you. You even as much as look at her wrong and I’ll make your life a living hell. That retarded bitch you call a mother will be lucky she can’t remember your face because I’ll make sure no one does. You get me?
Teresa grabbed Chainz's hand with both of hers trying to pry it loose, but to no avail. Her baby blue eyes sparked with anger at the mention of her mother.
Chainz: And because I know you’re a fucking loser and probably don’t care about your life so if you think you can still fuck with me or my girl, then I’ll fuck with your family. I’ll give your retarded mother a fucking even she’ll remember. Who knows, maybe it’ll knock some of her screws back in place.
Teresa’s face was red with rage and lack of oxygen. Chainz smiled and dropped her to the ground. She coughed as she tried to bring the air back to her lungs.
Chainz: You might want to consider not showing up for our match because if you do, not only will you lose but you’ll be humiliated.
Teresa Tomas: Just wait till our match you sick bastard. You gone and done pissed off the wrong redneck.
Chainz laughed as he walked out of the locker room. Teresa coughed some more before getting to her feet. She began to pace around the locker room steaming mad. She grabbed the bottle of Jack and smashed it against a wall. Onto New Beginnings Featuring: Mikey O’Reilly Author: Jeremy J. I still can’t believe it. I’m the Frontier champion.
Mikey O’Reilly is in his locker room, holding his newly won Frontier title belt in his hands. He stares at it, trying to believe that he’s the holder of this belt, and yet, he is. Last week in Anapa Beach, Russia, he defeated Anton Assault in probably one of the most controversial ways in AWC history. Mikey managed to get a pinfall in before the weather made it incapable of continuing the match. If the weather wasn’t bad last week, it’s hard to tell if Mikey O’Reilly walked away with the title.
In his heart, he doesn’t feel that he should have won the Frontier title that way. It makes him sick to know that he won the title in such a tainted fashion. Heavy rainfall to shut down the remainder the match, that’s just fucking ridiculous. But what can Mikey do to solve this problem? The only solution to think of is give Anton Assault a much deserved rematch for the Frontier title, a rematch where rain won’t decide the outcome of the match.
Unfortunately for Anton Assault, Mikey O’Reilly can’t give him that rematch, not yet anyway. This week, Mikey O’Reilly has Horazon. Horazon hasn’t made much of a name for himself ever since debuting in the AWC, but this week, he has the chance to beat Mikey O’Reilly. If he does so, he’ll be in the running for the Frontier title.
With Zsasz out of his life and with his career taking an amazing turn after last week, Mikey O’Reilly has the confidence and the pride he’s been looking for, ever since was on his losing streak. He can now hold his head up high and face whatever is in his way.
With his losing ways behind him, it’s onto new beginnings.
Having Some F-U(-N)
FEATURING: THE NEW BLACK
AUTHOR: PIERRE HYDE
Lacuna Debris: So have you heard from the Fists tonight?
Angelus Sorrow: Not a word.
Lacuna Debris: Bollocks! Aren’t we meant to get a new challenge or something? I mean, you found their bloody Bible! What’s next?
The New Black wonder what indeed comes next, Angelus Sorrow sitting up on the bench of his locker room having been interrupted snacking on an energy bar from his kitbag (thanks to all the food provided for the roster having been besmirched by a mustard enthusiast) by Lacuna Debris, his tag partner.
Lacuna Debris: Anyway, I need a piss.
She turns to go, then stops in shock.
Lacuna Debris: We have an en suite?
Sorrow cracks a grin.
Angelus Sorrow: I know, great isn’t it? We should come back here more often!
Debris marches proudly into the adjacent bathroom.
Lacuna Debris: (o/c) Er... Sorrow?
Angelus Sorrow: Lacuna?
Lacuna Debris: (o/c) There’s sort of a Bible on the floor with all the pages ripped out.
Angelus Sorrow: Ripped out? But... why would THEY do THAT?
He stands up and lumbers over.
Lacuna Debris: And there’s... there’s a load of roll-ups on the floor... from Bible pages.
Angelus Sorrow: What?
Lacuna Debris: They’re kind of arranged to spell something, too! F... U...
Angelus Sorrow: Ah, that’s---
Lacuna Debris: N. F-U-N. Fun.
Angelus Sorrow: Huh? That means nothing.
Lacuna Debris: No, I'm just kidding; it’s F-U.
AgentDash vs Lacuna Debris
STIPULATION: SINGLES
REFEREE: MICHAEL RYAN
AUTHORS: JEREMY J. AND ???
Truth Waters: All right, we are in our second of six matches for this edition of Fresh! on the West Atlantic tour. Coming up in a few short minutes, Lacuna Debris takes on AgentDash. The last singles match Lacuna was in was against Horazon, and she managed to pick up the victory. But tonight, she's facing a "seasoned veteran" of sorts in Dash. Can Debris pick up her second singles victory, or will "The Agent" be too overwhelming for the former heroin addict?
George Cassidy: I think Lacuna Debris has a lot of potential in AWC, being a former UWF Television champion and had a stint in RPW, but I don't think she has what it takes someone like AgentDash. Since Lacuna has no regard for her body, she's looking to throw herself at Dash to pick up the victory. Dash is smarter than that, and Dash can capitalize on that mistake. AgentDash to win this match.
Truth Waters: You make good key points, Cass, but I'm pickin' Lacuna Debris to win. Angelus Sorrow has been nursing her back to health and she's looking better under her cousin's care. Let's take it do the ring, shall we? James Brunt, you're up, brother!
James Brunt: The following is a singles match!
"Thrice" by Music Box starts to play as Cedric Riley, formerly known as Charles Kensrue and Sean Aspinall, makes his way down to the ring under his ring name, AgentDash. The fans jeer Dash, who simply ignores them as he steps off the ramp and climbs into the ring.
James Brunt: First, from Berkeley, California, weighing 190 pounds... AGENTDASH!
Truth Waters: AgentDash is getting booed by the crowd as usual. Typical heel reaction.
George Cassidy: He don't care, Truth. Like him or hate him, he goes into the ring and gets the job done.
Truth Waters: He gets "The Job" done alright. Typical heel jobber.
George Cassidy: Hey now, don't be dissin' Ced.
Truth Waters: Don't be talkin' like youse a Gangsta, foo'.
James Brunt: His opponent...
"Arsehole" by Engerica begins to play as Lacuna Debris, former UWF Television champion, steps out onto the steel stage, and her large, older cousin, Angelus Sorrow, follows suit.
James Brunt: Being accompanied to the ring by her cousin, Angelus Sorrow, from Derbyshire, England. Weighing 132 pounds and representing The New Black... LACUNA DEBRIS!
The fans are giving Lacuna Debris a mixed reaction as she climbs into the ring, locking her eyes on her opponent. She goes to her corner and waits for the match to start. Angelus Sorrow is on the outside, talking strategy with her.
Truth Waters: I dunno about you, Cass, but it looks like Lacuna Debris has been putting on a little weight after kicking her heroin habit. She's gotta be about 140 pounds now.
George Cassidy: Have you been checking out Lacuna, Truth? If you have been, I'm gonna tell Angelus Sorrow on you.
Truth Waters: What are you, seven, Cass? Only a kid would tattletale on someone.
Ring announcer James Brunt exits the ring as referee Michael Ryan calls for the bell. Lacuna Debris pushes herself from her corner and walks into the middle of the ring, keeping her eyes on AgentDash. They lock up in the middle of the ring, LD getting the upper hand by slapping on a Headlock on Dash. Dash manages to muscle out of the Headlock by pushing Debris into the ropes. Debris hurls herself into the air with a Spinning Heel Kick, but Cedric Riley ducks underneath aerial attack, and watches Lacuna crash hard onto the canvas. She lets out a small yelp, clutching at her lower back.
Truth Waters: Ooh, not a very good showing thus far for Lacuna Debris, crashing and burning on the mat with that Spinning Heel Kick attempt.
George Cassidy: See that's what I was talking about, Truth. Lacuna Debris is gonna throw herself at AgentDash to try to get a win, but it'll end up biting her in the ass.
AgentDash runs over to Lacuna Debris, delivers a low Dropkick into the small of her back and that maneuver sends Debris out of the ring and lands hard onto her side. Angelus Sorrow hustles over to her cousin, checking on her to see if she sustained any serious injuries. Unbeknownst to Sorrow, however, Dash bounces off the opposite ropes, charges at Sorrow with a head full of steam and dives in between the top and middle ropes with a Suicide Dive! Dash presses all of his near 200-pound frame into Sorrow, pressing him against he security wall. Dash is slow to get to his feet, grabs the "Lioness" by her hair and rolls her into the ring.
AgentDash rolls into the ring, gets to his feet and picks up Lacuna Debris. He turns Debris around, throws a wicked knee into Debris' lower back and bends her over backwards with an Inverted Face-lock. "Miss England" throws a leg into the air, catching Dash in the face with her foot and that makes Dash let go of the Inverted Face-lock, dropping LD. LD kips up, wincing a bit as a pain shoots through her lower back and backs Dash into the ropes. She throws a heavy kick into Dash's midsection, doubling him over. She locks in a Front Face-lock, picks up "The Agent" with a Vertical Suplex and balances Dash's legs on the top rope. Still having him in her possession, Lacuna turns around, gets Dash in a three-quarter nelson and sits down, executing an impact Ace Crusher!
Truth Waters: What a big move by Lacuna Debris, and she's going for the cover, hooking the leg!
ONE!
TWO!
AgentDash kicks out before three.
Truth Waters: No! Lacuna Debris couldn't put AgentDash away with that innovative Ace Crusher!
George Cassidy: Of course not, Truth! AgentDash is too tough to fall to a move like that.
Lacuna Debris picks up AgentDash, gets him to his feet and pushes him into the corner. She lifts him up onto the top turnbuckle, grabs a hold of his left arm and jumps onto the top rope. As she balances herself, she turns to the left, walks over to Dash, jumps off the top rope and executes a picture perfect top rope Hurricanrana, drilling Dash right on his head! She goes for another cover, hooking the leg...
ONE!
TWO!
THR---
NO! AgentDash shoots the shoulder up.
Truth Waters: What a move by Lacuna Debris and Angelus Sorrow is applauding her cousin, but it ain't enough to beat AgentDash.
George Cassidy: For a second there, Truth, I thought it was the end for AgentDash, but he's still in the match.
Lacuna Debris lifts AgentDash to his feet, but Agent rakes Lacuna's eyes, and throws some nasty hand/foot combinations: left, right, kick, kick, right, left, kick. He is overwhelming the former UWF Television champion with his martial arts abilities, backing her into the ropes. After pummeling LD with his strikes, he whips LD into the ropes. As she bounces back, she launches herself into the air, going for another Hurricanrana, but Agent is ready for her by taking her down to the match with a Power Bomb. After the Power Bomb, he grabs both her legs, steps forward with this left leg and wraps her legs around his leg. With her legs secure, he turns Lacuna onto her front and sits down on her lower back, locking in the Cross Indian Death-lock, also known as...
George Cassidy: Sharpshooter! AgentDash has the Sharpshooter locked on Lacuna Debris, and she has nowhere to go!
Truth Waters: Angelus Sorrow is willing his cousin to fight the maneuver, and she's trying with all her might!
Angelus Sorrow, Lacuna Debris' Duo Tag partner and cousin, is talking to her, willing her to get to the ropes. Lacuna is screaming in pain, feeling the pressure becoming more intense in her lower back as she crawls for the ropes, reaching for them. She's dragging AgentDash's 190 pounds with her, and it's not an easy task for the former heroin addict. Sorrow is now pounding the canvas, telling Lacuna to "Move yer arse, you bitch!" That wakes up "Miss England," staring angrily at her cousin. With a burst of energy, she muscles out of the Sharpshooter, gets to her feet and power walks towards her cousin, yelling at him.
Lacuna Debris: Who you calling a bitch, you fucking old wanker?!
Truth Waters: Look at that! Lacuna Debris muscled out of the Sharpshooter and she is pissed with Angelus Sorrow for calling her a bitch.
George Cassidy: AgentDash is charging at Lacuna Debris while she's arguing with her cousin!
Truth Waters: Look out, Lacuna!
As if Lacuna Debris heard Truth Waters, she turns and kicks AgentDash right in the face, dropping her opponent like a ton of bricks. She runs over to her opponent, goes for the lateral press and---
Exnay on the Ightslay.
The arena is plunged into total darkness.
George Cassidy: Not again (groan).
Truth Waters: Is Gabriel Afeaki striking again?
For a few moments, all that can be seen is the sudden flashes of camera bulbs accompanied by the disdain of the audience.
Then, just as quickly, they return. However, there are two differences.
1) The AWC screen prominently displays the initials "F.U."
2) In the center of the ring, between Lacuna Debris and AgentDash, is a rather large pile of poop.
Yes, poop.
Truth Waters: Is that?
George Cassidy: FECES?!?
Lacuna quickly hops over the steamy load, not allowing Dash the advantage. She tries to take Dash off guard with a quick school boy, only Dash uses her momentum against her and slams her into the mat. He quickly hops over her (and the poop) as he takes to the ropes. Upon his return, she quickly pushes to her feet and tries to take him down with a leg-sweep.
However, she over-anticipates his movement and takes a stumbling step.
George Cassidy: Watch out, Lacuna! Don't step in the---
Squish.
Truth Waters: POOP ALERT!
Lacuna slips back and falls, hooking the arm of AgentDash and driving him down as well. Both of them go flying into the steamy pile of shit, sending it flying everywhere.
The referee, covered in shit as well, calls for the bell and declares this match a no-contest.
F.U., AWC.
You've Got A Friend In Me?
FEATURING: JOSH MARQUEZ, PADDY O'SHEA
AUTHORS: MICHAEL DOHERTY AND GARETH
“Goddamn vending machines!”
Josh Marquez’s shout reverberated down the walls, through the floor and up your legs so you got a nice feeling in your golly wollys. This particular beast with a chocolate belly was digesting George Washington’s expendable head and with no tasty Riesens in sight.
Josh Marquez: Jesus, I swear this fucking company rigs the vending machines to screw us over, the robbing bastards.
“Tell me about it.”
Who the fuck said that? Josh Marquez turned left and was instantly disappointed. He’d been hoping for someone interesting but what he got was that washed up hack Paddy O’Shea. Wasn’t he dead or something? He was definitely at an Irishman’s funeral recently. Oh right… now he remembered, he’d bought the Father Ted boxset.
Josh Marquez turned back to the glass and metal box again, caring more about getting his chocolate than talking to a depressed pikey. Ever since he came to AWC he had been looking for something… an angle, a scam, something that would catapult him into the upper echelons of the company. Sure his path might not be totally honest but hell, he’d had to play dirty before to get what he wanted. All he needed was an opportunity, a springboard. Paddy O’Shea wasn’t it. The Irish bastard was nothing more than a sinkable stepping stone, something you would not want to use.
“They fucked me over too,” Paddy muttered, watching Josh intently for a sympathetic reaction that never came. “They made me bust me balls every week, then they dropped me like that. Ye know?”
Josh coughed feeling a little uncomfortable. The guy was small and Josh wanted to smack him upside the head right there and then. Only problem was he had these crazy-ass nails that looked like they hadn’t been cut in a year and posed a very serious scratch risk to Josh’s face if the loser decided to fight back. So once again he remained silent.
Paddy O'Shea: That’s alright, ye don’t have t’ say anything… I just appreciate someone ready to listen.
Josh Marquez: Sure man, anytime.
It was a throwaway comment, one that was meant to end the conversation there and then. Unfortunately it seemed that O’Shea took the ‘anytime’ literally.
Paddy O'Shea: Thanks…. aye’m Paddy. And you’re…?
Looks like he wasn’t going to get rid of him. Oh well, maybe he could work him onto a more interesting topic - like how Josh had been fucked over ever since he joined AWC.
Josh Marquez: I’m Josh Marquez, your future Transatlantic champion, I---
Paddy O'Shea: Nice… aye was nearly TA champ once… but they fucked me over on tha’… they said aye didn’t sell enough. AWC are bastards don’t ye think?
Damn… right that was that, the little munchkin was getting a slap if he opened his mouth again, to hell with the nails. Josh stopped his assault on the vending machine and turned to walk away.
Paddy O'Shea: Hey, ye forgot your chocolate!
Josh Marquez and saw the most amazing thing… no, not a slim Samoan but opportunity. Paddy O’Shea clenched his fist and put it right through the glass. With his hand starting to bleed, he selected a Karamel Krunch and tossed it to Marquez.
Josh Marquez: Uh… thanks, I guess.
Paddy O'Shea: No problem… anything fer a mate o’ mine.
Anything? Opportunity, opportunity, opportunity. A broad smile lit up Josh’s face now, the perfect teeth being revealed.
Josh Marquez: Hey why don’t you come with me? Everyone here’s a dick, same as the Eastern roster but I’m new, I haven’t been contaminated yet. Come on back to my locker room and we can chill out, talk all about your troubles.
Paddy smiled a naïve smile and began to walk towards Josh, putting a hand out to clasp his shoulder.
Josh Marquez: Don’t touch the suit.
And shockingly, Paddy didn’t. It was then that it hit Josh - Paddy was like a trained dog. A trained dog who was in AWC’s main event tonight. Maybe this he wasn’t such an unstable steeping stone after all… But first he’d watch the main event, see if the Irishman still had it. Only then would he decide if he could use him. After all, a foothold to the top is not to be laughed at.
Second Thoughts
FEATURING: GARBAGE BAG JOHNNY, DAVID "PEARL" HARBER, ELLIS NASH
AUTHOR: ???
Garbage Bag Johnny: And not only are they really convenient, but they're just plain cool. Well, literally, they're quite hot but I was talking about cool in the sense that Luis Ferrara is cool because of all the cocaine he sniffs---
Pearl: Johnny, I am not going to change my position on the Jetpack issue. THEY STAY BANNED, and that is final.
Garbage Bag Johnny: But!
Pearl: No 'buts'.
Garbage Bag Johnny: But!
Pearl: But what?
Garbage Bag Johnny: But NASA gave me money to be seen with them!
And at this point, Pearl feels the antagonizing pain in his head that tells him he's dealing with a moron. For a second he's struck with deja vu but that is a feeling that quickly fleets him.
It's instances that people randomly barge into his office to demand random things that makes him believe God still exists, or otherwise he'd be arguing with idiots like Garbage Bag or Red Rock all day.
Cue Ellis Nash.
Pearl: Ellis, what a pleasant surprise.
Garbage Bag Johnny: Ellis!
GBJ's eyes and shoulders perk up, she scans to see the both of them.
Ellis Nash: I need to talk. To both of you.
Pearl: What's on your mind?
Ellis Nash: First of all, Johnny, did you go and cover the catering tables with gallons and gallons of mustard?
Garbage Bag Johnny: No? At least I don't think I did, but who knows, I shoved about eight pills of Xanex in my nostrils earlier so I'm not remembering much lately. Why? Did you like it? Would you like me to cover the rest of the arena in Mustard as well, dear?
Ellis Nash: No, I really don't. Pearl, this is kind of weird. What the hell is this F.U. business?
Garbage Bag Johnny: Think it could be that creepy Mexican guy that likes to play tricks on people?
Pearl: Impossible. He's on the East Tour...
Pearl takes a moment to think to himself but Ellis' persistence and nervousness shine through. In her mind, these games bring up a different point entirely.
Ellis Nash: I think we should back off. I don't want to do this anymore.
Pearl: Don't worry, El, I don't think you'll have to.
From The Archives I
FEATURING: KIDS
AUTHOR: PIERRE HYDE
“Welcome to the best, coolest, most groovy, most downright dastardly school break-in that ever took place.”
The sky is dark; the camera is shaky. Four youths in hooded sweatshirts sit on a fallen tree trunk in what looks like a forest clearing. Two are smoking, while empty Budweiser bottles compete with leaf litter to best cover the floor.
“Fellers, are we ready?”
The fifth member of the gang – holding the camera – gets an affirmative from those seated and moves closer, zooming in on the face of the leftmost teenager.
Cameraman: There’s no light...
“I got it,” cuts in the boy sitting just out of shot, and flicks his cigarette lighter into life. A small flame vaguely illuminates the face of the first, who looks quizzically at the camera and shrugs. The shot moves up and down insistently, as if the camera operator is nodding.
First Youth: Um, all right... but this is kinda dumb... Hi, I'm Mike Ryan, I'm from Sacramento and I'm on point.
The boy with the camera moves his focus right, to his friend with the lighter.
Second Youth: Hey, I'm Tone... er?
Cameraman: (hushed) Say something else!
Third Youth: (o/c) Dave man, this blows, can we just get going now? We’re losing time, Rex’ll be coming back any minute.
Dave/Cameraman: Alright, alright...
The camera swings jerkily down towards the ground and is then realigned to point in the other direction – at a large concrete building behind a wire fence.
Dave/Cameraman: This is it, viewers... this is it...
Fourth Youth: Dave you utter fag, no one’s gonna watch this shit.
Mike Ryan: Let’s go!
Those two sprint to the fence and immediately begin to scale it, while the two others adopt strategic lookout positions and Dave finds the best place from which to film the adventure. Mike and his buddy drop stealthily to the ground and are passed through a crowbar by one of the others.
Fourth Youth: Mike, you sure about this?
Mike Ryan: I’ve told you enough times, there’s no alarms at weekends! Now let’s go!
The other boy takes the crowbar and bypasses the first building to run to the second, while Mike goes round the other way checking it is clear. The cameraman zooms to follow the fourth youth, but soon finds he has reached the zoom limit of the video camera.
Dave/Cameraman: Damn!
He quietly crawls closer as those who can brave motion sickness enough to actually watch this footage see the bandana-wearing boy slice open a window pane and lower it safely to the ground. He reaches in through the window and unlocks the door, turning to give the thumbs-up towards the camera. The two on look-out duty start to cheer. Mike Ryan sprints back and grabs the fence, staring through with anxious eyes.
Mike Ryan: Shut the FUCK up! This is the most dangerous part! Stu, bottom drawer, you said?
Stu: That’s right – on your left as you go in.
Ryan turns and flashes the thumbs-up to the boy in the bandana, who opens the door and enters carefully, Mike following behind. Dave begins to speak softly to the camera.
Dave/Cameraman: And the moment of truth... tomorrow’s exam paper... man, this is---
He breaks off as Mike bursts back through the door, clutching with joy the crucial papers in his hand. The fourth youth follows, and above the whoops and cheers of joy from everyone, a scream rends them all silent.
Mike Ryan: Ding!
He whirls round.
Mike Ryan: Ding, man, what happened?
The one in the bandana is sat back against the school building, clutching his arm.
Ding: I ripped my damn arm open... on the broken glass... shit!
Mike Ryan: Fuck! We need to get outta here, now! Can you move?
Ding: (gasping) Yeah – yeah I can...
Dave and the other two boys run up to the fence.
Second Youth: What the fuck, man?
Mike Ryan: We need some help, NOW!
Stu and the other boy scale the fence without a word, but a gasp from Dave stops them.
Dave/Cameraman: Somebody’s coming!
Stu: Shit!
He and his friend immediately drop back down off the fence and run for it.
Mike Ryan: Hey! Come back!
Dave/Cameraman: Mike, we need to get out, now!
Mike Ryan: But Ding... he can’t run; he can’t walk!
Ding: Leave me, man, go, go... better one of us than all of us...
Mike considers in silence, then claps Ding on the shoulder and runs back to the fence, starting to climb.
Dave/Cameraman: No!
Mike Ryan: We gotta go, Dave!
The cameraman sets his equipment down on a convenient stump so that we can still see the majority of the proceedings and hurtles his body up and over the fence at a startling speed. With great urgency he runs over to Ding, picks him up on his shoulders and hightails it back to the fence. Mike, who has dropped down the other side, watches, astounded.
Mike Ryan: Dave, you can’t bring him over like that...
Dave shakes his head impatiently and clambers up the fence, Ding a heavy weight on his shoulders. The strain showing in the youth’s face, he makes it to the top and dumps Ding down into Mike’s waiting arms.
Mike Ryan: Good work man! Now get down here!
Dave lingers for a moment, looking back at the school.
Mike Ryan: Hurry up!
Dave: The papers! They’re still there, by the door!
Mike Ryan: LEAVE THEM!
Dave: NO! They’ll know we were here!
Mike Ryan: Who cares, let’s just---
Dave: No! I'm going back! That way it’ll get blamed on---
He stops and gulps as the sound of a dog barking the other end of the school compound is heard. Against Mike’s wishes, he drops back to the ground and hits it running, dropping low to grab the papers.
Mike Ryan: NOW let’s go! Take them and run!
Dave looks heavily down at the next day’s test, then fixes Mike with a level gaze.
Dave: No. I can’t do this. I can’t... cheat.
He turns and heads in through the door, which creaks ominously.
Mike Ryan: He’s putting them back?! Ding, what the fuck is he thinking?
Ding: Dave FREAKIN’ Harber, get yo ass back out here!
Voice: With pleasure.
Ding: FUCK! It’s Rex! Let’s go go go, man!
Mike Ryan: Can you run?
They run.
David Harber’s camera, left behind on that tree stump, records the school guard entering the classroom; records him exiting again with Harber by the scruff of his shirt; records the sorrowful expression on the 15-year-old’s face. What it hasn’t recorded is his subsequent expulsion for breaking and entering, and the ensuing struggle to get into any other school in California, and then college, with an official reprimand from the police.
Good guys never win.
Sentice Vargas vs Johnny Lexicon
STIPULATION: SINGLES
REFEREE: JOSEPH REID
AUTHOR: KRIS (KLONE)
The opening riff of 'Beautiful People' by Marilyn Manson trebles on the bass line as the screen flickers and fades into static.
'Patient zero has become infected.' A robotic voice emulates fear. 'Self destruct sequence has been Initiated.' The same robotic voice ques in higher.
Johnny Lexicon: Oh that human element..
His baritone rolls.
There's a flash, a crash, the music picks up and Lexicon walks from the back in a pair of Trooper Shades framed by his shoulder length blond hair. He raises a rock on and points to his Pierce Lavelle t-shirt as he heads ringside. Shades and shirt come off before he even climbs through the ropes, tieing his bangs back out of his face.
Truth Waters: Newcomer Lexicon making his Fresh!west debut in this match up.
'The Crossroads' by Bone Thugs in Harmony hits as Lexicon's music fades and Sentice Vargas makes his way from the back. He waves to the fans and jogs down the ramp, climbing the stairs and eyeing Lexicon who chuckles at him and paces on his side of the ring.
Truth Waters: Sentice Vargas making his way down to the ring and looking wary of the enthusiastic Lexicon.
George Cassidy: Caution is a good thing, but cowardice is crippling in this industry.
Sentice and Johnny both stare at each other as the fans quiet down around them, waiting, expectant, but not entirely interested.
Truth Waters: Lexicon coming from a decisive win last week in Anapa, he's looking good and ready to try to pull his success over here to the West.
George Cassidy: They're squaring up now and the bell means this match is underway.
Johnny moves in fast hitting a hard right hand, Vargas answers with one of his own and Lexicon slugs him with a south paw upper cut.
Truth Waters: What a shot to the chops that was, and a beautiful drop kick sends Vargas to the outside.
Lexicon hops onto the turnbuckle closest to Vargas and calls him back into the ring, Sentice gives his head a solid shake and circles around the other way. Johnny hops down and huddles in the corner eyeing Sentice as he motivates himself into hopping up onto the apron. Johnny charges and hits Sentice with a forearm, Vargas holds the ropes and Johnny grabs him to use that momentum and pull him back into the ring.
Truth Waters: Great ring presence by Lexicon there, giving Vargas a helping hand back into the ring.
George Cassidy: Vargas had no business on the outside anyway, this is a wrestling match.
Truth Waters: We're gonna see some wrestling here as Vargas hits Lexicon with a low blow. The Chosen Ones rep is firing on all cylinders as he hammers Lexicon with lefts and rights.
Vargas battles Johnny against the ropes, hits him with a forearm and sends him running for the other set of ropes. Lex comes off fast and into a, no he ducks the clothesline and spins Vargas around, he hammers him with a forearm block that sends the smaller Sentice to his back with authority.
George Cassidy: Sentice takes it on the chin and Lexicon follows it with an elbow drop. That ring presence you mentioned earlier, Vargas seems to be lacking in that area.
Truth Waters: Lexicon applying a modified arm bar on his winded opponent. When two tough guys like this get into the ring it's all about control, so far Lexicon has been dominating.
George Cassidy: Vargas. Well. Yeah.
Johnny drops the arm bar and gives Sentice a quick kick to the worked shoulder. Lexicon moves to pull Vargas to his feet, Vargas throws the arms off and hits a hard right hand, Lexicon takes another and Vargas throws him into the ropes, no! Lexicon reverses and sends Vargas to the ropes, hip toss! Lexicon holds onto Vargas' arm and wrenches it against his knee.
Truth Waters: Another modified armbar by Lexicon, there's a game plan in motion.
George Cassidy: A game plan I have to admit is working, but then again Vargas. Well. Yeah.
Johnny releases pressure on the arm bar but doesn't let go, standing up he kicks Vargas in the arm pit, pulling him up from his kneeling position, Johnny ducks under and twists Vargas' arm. Vargas bends over trying to reduce pressure but when he does Johnny boots him in the chest, Vargas reers back and Lexicon hammers with a power clothesline. Vargas hits the mat hard, legs bend over his head and his toes kiss the canvas. The crowd cringes and guffaws as Lexicon makes a cover.
George Cassidy: Vargas just got devastated, it's almost as if he decided to skip work today but forgot to stay home. A kick out the two count.
Truth Waters: I have to agree, Lexicon has controlled the pace since the bell rang and it's only a matter of time before this is over. Is he that good? I don't know, I think he's gotten lucky draws as far as opponents go thus far.
Lexicon helping Vargas to his feet and sending him to the corner hard, he follows up but gets a boot in the face. Vargas hangs off the ropes as Johnny reels and checks a now bloody lip. Vargas comes out of the corner with a back elbow that sends Johnny to the mat, he boots Lexicon while he's down twice and grabs for his leg. Johnny tucks his legs tight, pulling Vargas off balance and then launches him back into the corner. He rolls up and kicks back to his feet, but pauses with a grin and with both hands calls Vargas out of the corner.
Truth Waters: Lexicon practically begging Vargas to put up a fight!
Vargas comes out suddenly and swings a haymaker, Johnny ducks underneath and hammers a shot into Vargas' ribs. Vargas hits him with a back handed chop to the face and the crowd thunders with 'Oooh's'. Johnny blinks and takes a hard right to the chops that snaps his head to the side. Vargas takes two steps back and one big one forward.
Truth Waters: Ice Breaker avoided!
Johnny spins away from the super kick, Vargas turns to face him and gets a kick to the gut. The fans start to stomp as Johnny pulls him into the pedigree position.
George Cassidy: Vargas about to take the ride we saw Shawn Harris take in Anapa last week!
Truth Water: Vargas goes up! And Vargas goes down!
Johnny hits the powerbomb and locks the sunset flip in one smooth motion.
George Cassidy: Pattern perfect and this one is over folks!
ONE!
TWO!
THREE!
Truth Waters: Johnny gets a solid three count and pulls out his second victory in a row.
Johnny's music hits as he gets to his feet, the ref raising his arm but Lexicon can only look down at the semi coherent Sentice Vargas. Pity, perhaps?
George Cassidy:This win puts the newcomer at two and oh. Is it enough to get him a match at Coast To Coast though?
Truth Waters: I'll be interested to find out.
Johnny leaves the ring after a shake of his head and a heaved sigh, walking up the ramp with less enthusiasm than he'd walked down it.
Reunion Of Old Rivals
FEATURING: MIKEY O'REILLY, CHAINZ
AUTHORS: JEREMY J. AND MIKE S.
Mikey O’Reilly leaves his locker room, wearing his Frontier title around his waist and having a pre-match smoke before going into the ring to face Horazon. He’s a bit agitated that he doesn’t have any beer, so bottled water or a soda will have to suffice. He finds himself a soda machine, puts a dollar bill into the slot and selects a bottle of Mountain Dew. He doesn’t get the chance to open his beverage when a voice he is all too familiar with calls his name.
“If it isn’t Mikey O’Reilly!”
Mikey lets out sigh when he turns around to see Chainz standing there with a smug look on his face, holding the Countdown Trophy in his right hand. Mikey feels his stomach turn in disgust as he now he no longer wants his Mountain Dew.
Mikey O’Reilly: What do you want, Sloan?
Chainz: Can’t I say hello to my good ole buddy?
Mikey O’Reilly: We’re not friends, I...
Chainz: Yeah, yeah, yeah you know you talk too much.
Mikey O’Reilly lets out another sigh, feeling his anger rising, and has a great desire to kick the shit out of Mike “Chainz” Sloan, but that will ruin his match tonight.
Mikey O’Reilly: And you annoy me too much. What is it you want, Chainz? I don’t have time to deal with someone like you.
Chainz: Like me, what’s that supposed to mean? You too good for me since you won yourself that title?
Mikey O’Reilly: You know what Chainz? ...You’re right. I’ve gotten too good for you since I won the Frontier title. People like you don’t deserve to be around me. What the hell do you think I mean, Sloan?
Mikey O’Reilly is in a losing battle to control his temper and he knows it. Chainz is now looking down at Mikey, his green eyes burning a hole into his soul.
Mikey O’Reilly: Lemme guess why you’re here bothering me. You want to be the first one to have a shot at my title, am I right?
Chainz: Nah, I’ll pass for now. There’s no reason for me to strip that title off your waist just yet.
Mikey O’Reilly: Right. Whatever.
Chainz: Don’t forget the last two times we met, son.
Son. Mikey has years on Michael Sloan but now it seems that he is like a small child being overwhelmed by Sloan’s mind games
Mikey O’Reilly: I haven’t forgotten, Chainz. They were two gimmick matches I had no chance in winning. But since I’m the holder of this belt, I won’t be defending it under some sort of gimmick match. Lemme let you in on a little secret, Mike: In order to strip me of this title, you have to out wrestle me, which is something I doubt you’re capable of doing. Anyone on the roster can out wrestle you. Hell, Gabriel Afeaki can out wrestle you, and he doesn’t know a goddamn thing about professional wrestling. Imagine what your dead sister would think of you when you’re beaten by a... what’s the word I’m looking for? Oh yes... “jobber.”
Upon hearing Mikey badmouth his sister a fuse goes off in Chainz’s head. He grabs Mikey by the collar and places his forearm into his neck as he pushes him against the wall, forcing Mikey to struggle for air. But being in the grasp of Chainz with no possible way to escape left him little choice but to listen to the man.
Chainz:
He grabs the Mountain Dew from Mikey’s hands and chugs it, slobbering all over the bottle.
Chainz: You ever mention my sister again and you’ll be meeting her for yourself.
There is a hostility and seriousness behind the threat that makes Mikey’s hair rise. Mikey shoves the larger man off and looks at him with eyes as wide as saucers, but he can’t seem to remove the smirk that is on his lips. Without really thinking he starts to chuckle.
Mikey O’Reilly: Always giving everyone threats when you hear something you don’t like. And the thought of you taking my title whenever you want is laughable, about as laughable as you helped do away with your sister. You’re pathetic Sloan!
Chainz is about to attack Mikey again, then keeps himself under control. He wants to beat Mikey O’Reilly death right here and now, but it won’t make him feel better.
Chainz: You’re fucking crazy.
Mikey O’Reilly: Maybe I am, Sloan. You can never tell. I have a match to win in about five minutes. I hope we don’t cross paths again.
Mikey O’Reilly walks away from Chainz, heading towards the black curtain to get ready for his match. Chainz stands there, watching Mikey leave. When he saw that look in Mikey’s eyes, it reminded him of Zsasz. Perhaps Zsasz’s influences has rubbed off on Mikey O’Reilly.
He feels a shiver go up his spine at the thought that Mikey O’Reilly... is turning into someone like Zsasz.
Horazon vs Mikey O'Reilly
STIPULATION: SINGLES
REFEREE: RICHIE TRAVIS
AUTHOR: JOE
‘Underdog’ by Audioslave hits the airwaves as Horazon makes his way toward the ring.
James Brunt: The following is a singles match. From Oklahoma City, HORAZON!
Truth Waters: I really don’t know too much about this cat Cassidy.
George Cassidy: Tell me about it Truth, this kid be a jive turkey if I ever seen one.
Truth Waters: You talking jive now?
George Cassidy: Something I’ve been working on brother.
Horazon slides into the ring awaiting AWC’s newly crowned Frontier champion.
A melodic, beautiful sound of a pair of acoustic guitars fills the arena with music. An Italian style solo plays, and then the introduction fades into hard, driving metal as ‘The Enemy’ by Team Cazares starts to play.
James Brunt: Making his way to the ring, formally from Belfast, Ireland, now residing in Boston, Massachusetts, weighing 230 pounds... he is the Frontier champion... MIKEY O'REILLY!
Mikey O'Reilly is seen slowly making his way onto the ramp, proudly wearing his newly-won Frontier title belt around his waist. He looks out into the crowd, feeding off the mixed reaction, and throws a few punches, as to get some more shadow boxing in before his match. He then makes his way down to the ring as the yells of Mark Hunter fill the arena.
Truth Waters: O’Reilly, wasting no time in getting this one underway.
George Cassidy: Oh really?
Truth Waters: O’ RLY!!!!
Horazon stumbles back into the turnbuckle as Mikey O’Reilly unleashes a flurry of fists Muhammad Ali would have been proud of, lefts and rights rain down on Horazon’s skull like an unholy Irish waterfall. O’Reilly steps back an unleashes a knee straight into the ribs of Horazon.
George Cassidy: I’ve never seen O’Reilly this intense before. Title win must’ve galvanised him.
O’Reilly waits as Horazon stumbles out from the turnbuckle, catching Horazon as he comes forward O’Reilly sends Horazon airborne with a textbook Exploder Suplex. O’Reilly bounces into the ropes and drops a knee to the temple of the downed Horazon. O’Reilly explodes to his feet and drags Horazon to his feet, he slaps on a front face lock and lifts Horazon vertically. O’Reilly walks around the ring…
Truth Waters: Immense show of strength from Mikey here…
O’Reilly stalls for a few more seconds before dropping Horazon to the mat with a sickening Emerald Isle Crush powerbomb. Maintaining the powerbomb lock O’Reilly lifts Horazon back onto his shoulders and drops him down to the mat with a mid air reverse STO.
Truth Waters: Great improvisation of the Eatin’ Canvas there.
George Cassidy: I hate to say it, but Horazon looks out of his depth and all but out of it…
O’Reilly was in no mood to hang about tonight, he wanted to show the AWC exactly why he was the champion. Picking Horazon up O’Reilly whips him into the ropes, Horazon shoots back with a lariat attempt. O’Reilly however is two steps head of Horazon and ducks expertly under the arm, locking in a waistlock. In one fluid movement O’Reilly lifts Horazon up and over with a stiff German suplex. It was time for some Irish suplexes. Maintaining the waistlock O’Reilly lifts Horazon to his feet and slams him back down to the mat… the crowd count along.
2…
3…
4…
5…
6…
7…
Seven suplexes later, O’Reilly brings Horazon to his feet for a final time and executes a release German suplex, sending Horazon crashing to the canvas.
Truth Waters: That had to hurt… eight Irish suplexes… O’Reilly is truly going for it tonight.
Mikey takes a breather on the canvas before pulling himself to his feet. He stalks Horazon who groggily is pulling himself up with a lot of aid from the ring ropes… waiting behind as he turns… O’Reilly delivers a swift kick to the gut, and pulls Horazon up onto his shoulders in a standing fireman’s carry. He parades him around the ring before twisting and releasing Horazon off of his shoulders, spinning his body around and spiking him with a DDT in the centre of the ring.
Truth Waters: Ouch… ouch… and ouch.
O’Reilly begins to mount the turnbuckle, unusual territory for the frontier champion. He stands uneasy on the top turnbuckle, before flying off with the grace of an elephant, and landing with the impact of one too as his knee drops straight onto the face of Horazon. O’Reilly rolls forward as his momentum takes him through.
Truth Waters: O’Reilly just flew… and look at Horazon’s face…
George Cassidy: BLOOOOOD~!~!
Horazon’s nose is somewhat disfigured from that knee drop and a stream of blood pours from his nose. O’Reilly signals for the end as he lifts the truly beaten Horazon to his feet, he whips Horazon into the turnbuckle and follows it up with a running shoulder tackle, lifting Horazon up as if for a backdrop suplex, he positions Horazon on the top turnbuckle facing the crowd.
Truth Waters: What the hell has he got in mind here?
O’Reilly stands facing the ring on the second rope and begins to link his arms in Falling of Christ fashion…
George Cassidy: Ooh… this is going to be good…
Standing on the second rope O’Reilly lifts Horazon into the air and drops from the second turnbuckle with a Crucifix Piledriver!
Truth Waters: OH MY GOD! A second rope Falling of Christ!
Horazon’s skull bounces off of the mat as he lays unconscious on the ground, chants of Holy Shit erupt around the arena as O’Reilly calmly lays across Horazon for the cover.
ONE!
TWO!
THREE!
Truth Waters: Horazon was truly decimated tonight, totally and utterly taken to pieces by a strangely intense and aggressive O’Reilly.
George Cassidy: The new Frontier champion sending a message to the AWC locker room, with the title, he looks like a new man.
Truth Waters: O’Reilly with the victory ladies and gentlemen.
F.U.
FEATURING: DAVID "PEARL" HARBER, JACK MURPHY
AUTHOR: ???
"Bohemian Like You" graces the speakers of the Cajundome, and the fans are immediately on their feet for the arrival of David 'Pearl' Harber. The AWC-West Entertainment Manager steps through the curtain with business written sternly across his face. His steps are quick and his posture is tense. Apparently, the man has a lot on his mind.
With Coast To Coast just weeks away, can you blame him?
James Brunt announces his boss as he climbs into the ring, passing off his microphone then politely exiting to the outside while David speaks his peace.
Truth Waters: Surely he must be out here to address the silly pranks going on tonight.
George Cassidy: Defecation will NOT stand, Truth! Not on Pearl's watch.
The crowd's volume dies as he raises the microphone to his lips, ready to address whatever the issue at hand.
Pearl: For the past few months, we here at AWC have moved beyond antics that some called "immature." Now, sure we have G.A. shaking things up on the East tour, and the Fists of God causing trouble anywhere they can, but all in all we've elevated ourselves from the status we were once degraded to. That is, until now, once again. You see, this morning I found that all the gasoline in my car had been replaced. With URINE. And my engine was ruined because of it, making me late to the show. Then, the catering table was ruined with mustard. And the New Black, discovering a Bible belonging to our Alliance champions, with the pages ripped and crafted into Marijuana joints. And then, in the match with Lacuna Debris and AgentDash. Well, we won't discuss that.
The fans cheer for the well-received 'Poop-Spot'. Well, those who weren't in the front row and got a bit of the backlash.
George Cassidy: DISGUSTING!
Pearl: It doesn't take Sasha Volkyeva and a band of Private Investigators to figure out this mystery. The culprit, as the clues state, is the mysterious 'F.U.', an inscription found at the scene of every listed crime. Now I could play the game and figure it all out, but whoever is crafting this mystery, they knows there isn't a game. They know that their identity is really no big secret at all, and that's why I'm out here. TO OUT THIS PERSON and give them the attention they desperately desire. Because that's all this is, ladies and gentlemen; a cry for attention. This is just one man's attempt to claw his way back into the spotlight after he made the stupidest decision of his life. Isn't that right, ADAM DICK?
The fans immediately gasp.
Truth Waters: Is he saying that The Illustrious Face-Eater is the culprit? Is Adam Dick F.U.?
George Cassidy: Oh my GOD! I FREAKIN' HOPE SO!
Pearl: The Illustrious Face-Eater, King Dick, and Ultimate Coward. Now that we've gotten your attention after you've gotten ours, why don't you come out here and tell us exactly what you want? Come on, I've set you up. Isn't this what you wanted? All eyes at center stage for your grand return? Come on, Adam, get this over with. These fans would rather go home than wait to see another one of your sorry stunts.
As Pearl folds his arms to wait a few moments, nothing happens.
...then the lights go out.
And the fans go ballistic.
Truth Waters: THE ILLUSTRIOUS FACE-EATER! HERE! NOW!
George Cassidy: HE POOPED IN THE RING EARLIER! Jesus, that is priceless.
The announcers are cut off, and the only sound that plays from the speakers... is music.
Corrupt
You corrupt
Bring corruption to all that you touch
Hold
You behold
And beholden for all that you've done
And spin
Cast a spell
Cast a spell on the country you run
And risk
You will risk
You will risk all their lives and their souls
And burn
You will burn
You will burn in hell, yeah you'll burn in hell
You'll burn in hell
Yes, you'll burn in hell for your sins
The lights return, and again the inscription of F.U. decorates the jumbotron. Pearl looks on for a moment, confused, as the music (“Take A Bow” from Muse’s new and utterly fantastic album, don’t you know) dies out. He begins to examine behind him to see if Adam had tried to sneak up on him, but there was no sign of the Face-Eater. He motions towards the entry-way and begins to shrug the whole "where the fuck is he?" notion.
And then, Jack Murphy passes through the curtains.
The fans cheer loudly, but they notice his demeanor is a bit different. He is angered, frustrated, and screaming.
Jack Murphy: HE ISN'T HERE!
Pearl: What?
Jack Murphy: HE'S NOT FUCKING HERE!
Pearl: What? What do you mean?
Jack Murphy: Adam Dick is nowhere in the arena! He fucked us all!
Pearl: ...well where the hell is he?!
From The Archives II
FEATURING: BIG KIDS
AUTHOR: PIERRE HYDE
“My name’s Saul Richardson, and I'm an advertising media executive. All twelve of you want to be able to say that. All twelve of you want to be as successful as me... RIGHT?”
Twelve fresh-faced college boys are dwarfed by the gleaming wooden table around which they sit, on uncomfortably low chairs so that no matter what is going on, they will feel inferior to the executive in his plush, high, dark leather recliner at one end. Now, however, Mr. Richardson is standing – it’s how he likes to impress people. His spittle can often reach the full length of the meeting room.
“Right!” everyone replies unenthusiastically. They are, of course, enthusiastic, but no one wants to come across like an eight-year-old at summer camp. We’re all adults here.
Saul Richardson: But I'm only taking ONE of you, ONE, to work in my company, because here at Richardson & Nobbletree, we only take the BEST! THE BEST! What does that mean to you, boy?
He jabs his finger into the face of one unfortunate.
“To... to be better than all the rest?”
Saul Richardson: I didn’t ask for a DEE-FINN-EE-SHUN! Get out! Out, come on!
He points angrily to the door. Shocked, and realising the man is serious, the cowering 19-year-old gathers his things and leaves.
Saul Richardson: Being the BEST is all about DOMINATING! PROFITEERING! TAKING NO PRISONERS – why aren’t you taking notes?
There is an immediate scramble for paper and pens.
Saul Richardson: We must show NO FEAR! NO MERCY! NO COMPASSION! NO---
“Excuse me, sir Saul Richardson sir, could you slow down a little? I'm trying to take notes and I can’t keep u---“
Saul Richardson: OUT! OUT!
Standard procedure.
Saul Richardson: Now...
He drums his fingers on the table and continues in a softer voice.
Saul Richardson: Oh, you don’t mind being filmed, do you? We’re making a sample interview video.
Nobody protests. How could they?
Saul Richardson: OK. Now that I’ve weeded out two of the weaklings, that leaves me with ten... What’s your name, boy?
He suddenly wheels to face a blond-haired, blue-eyed Connecticut middle-classer.
“Curtis Wheeler, sir.”
Saul Richardson: (considering) Good... good. I can imagine that on a plaque. OK.
He turns to address the full table again.
Saul Richardson: Your task – ALL OF YOU! YOUR TASK TODAY IS TO IMPRESS ME! That’s right! You get ONE sheet of blank paper, and you take our primary client – who’s that, boy?
“Borders, Mr. Richardson.”
Saul Richardson: That’s right! Good! What’s your name?
“David Harber, Mr. Richardson.”
Saul Richardson: Nice! I like it! Now! All of you! You have three hours! My secretary will give you a piece of paper each – FILL IT, with ideas for the new campaign for Borders! IMPRESS ME, BY ANY MEANS NECESSARY, AND YOU GOT YOURSELF A JOB!
We don’t see the jockeying for position that follows, the dog-eat-dog interrogation of existing employees for ideas, the one who ventures into the art department in search of materials which aren’t allowed for this task. We don’t see David Harber quietly sit at his desk and create, while those around him use every trick in the book to one-up each other. We don’t see Harber’s neat presentation of a solid billboard campaign, with pencil only, as requested. We don’t see it rejected. We don’t see the man who raided the art department present his multiple-sheet concept, complete with watercolour paints and computer presentation, and a testimonial from one of Richardson & Nobbletree’s current high-flyers. We don’t see that man hired, and the rest turned away. We don’t see David Harber’s disappointment.
Good guys never win.
Chainz (cth) vs Teresa Tomas
STIPULATION: COUNTDOWN TROPHY
REFEREE: JOSEPH REID
AUTHOR: JEREMY J.
Truth Waters: What up everyone? We are back for more from the West Atlantic tour. We have made it to the Countdown Trophy Match where the new trophy holder, Chainz, coming off a big win over Vince Jones last week on the East tour special show, takes on someone who’s held the Countdown Trophy before, Teresa Tomas. Teresa Tomas was the first-ever Countdown Trophy winner, beating Kip Brown, AgentDash and Captain Suleimon at Divide And Conquer. Teresa Tomas has a chance to become a two-time trophy holder, but Chainz is going to be a force to be reckoned with.
George Cassidy: I don’t see how Teresa Tomas can beat Chainz. Chainz is too big, too strong and too aggressive for that redneck piece of trash. This match will probably last about two minutes, tops. Besides, learning that Tiara Belle Russell is her half-sister is really messing with her mind.
Truth Waters: She may have the disadvantage going into this match, but Teresa Tomas is one tough broad, and about this whole affair issue, I think Tiara Belle Russell is trying to get into Teresa’s head and break her down mentally. Let’s see how her mental state is in this match! Take it away, James!
James Brunt: The following is a Countdown Trophy Match!
The famous horn of the Dukes of Hazard’s General Lee seeps through the P.A. system, blasting “Dixie.” This is followed by Waylon Jennings picking the intro to “Good Ole Boys.” A record scratching abruptly stops the Southern anthem, followed by utter silence. Without warning a cannon is heard blasting through the speakers and the lights begin to flicker violently, “Big Guns” by AC/DC floods the building. Teresa Jane Tomas, Top Rope Temptress, THE American Woman, and AWC’s own Redneck Princess marches down the entrance ramp with a bottle of Jack Daniels in hand.
James Brunt: Making her way to the ring, from Nashville, Tennessee, weighing 145 pounds, she is “THE American Woman...” TERESA TOMAS!
She stops midway, takes a long swig and chucks the nearly full bottle of booze over her shoulder into the crowd for a thirsty fan to enjoy before she completes her journey to the ring.
Truth Waters: It looks like Teresa Tomas has her head in the match.
George Cassidy: I can see that she’s still in pain, Truth. I can see it in her eyes. She isn’t going to last.
Truth Waters: We’ll see about that.
James Brunt: Her opponent...
“Cure” by The Wild Colonials hits as Chainz steps out from the back with Tracy Stanton by his side, while Chainz is holding up his Countdown Trophy in the air. The two proceed down the ramp way, Chainz ignoring the fans and Tracy appeasing them.
James Brunt: Being accompanied to the ring by Tracy Stanton, from Birmingham, Alabama. Weighing 295 pounds, he is the Countdown Trophy holder... CHAINZ!
Chainz hands Tracy Stanton the Countdown Trophy, slides into the ring and looks over at Teresa Tomas with an evil smirk on his face.
Truth Waters: I don’t like the look in his eyes, Cass. Those eyes mean he has evil intentions against Teresa Tomas.
George Cassidy: Of course, Truth. He’s Chainz, Chauvinist Pig Extraordinaire.
Before referee Joseph Reid calls for the bell, Mike “Chainz” Sloan explodes from his corner, taking Teresa Tomas down with a Lariat that could have taken Double T’s head off! The fans jeer Chainz as he looks down at his opponent, chuckling evilly.
Truth Waters: Jesus Christ! Chainz almost killed Teresa Tomas with that Lariat! He’s looking to end this match quickly.
Chainz grabs Teresa Tomas by the hair, yanks her to her feet and starts burying repeated knees into her stomach. After that onslaught is over, he picks her up over his head and slams her down with the Gorilla Press Slam. Chainz is about to continue his malicious attack until referee Joseph Reid steps in front of the psychotic monster, giving him a plethora of warnings.
George Cassidy: C’mon, ref, let Chainz have his fun!
Truth Waters: Fun? You call brutalizing a woman fun?! That’s uncalled for and you know it, Cass!
Finally, referee Joseph Reid gets things under control, he calls for the bell and the time sets on the Atlantic Tron.
5:00
Mike “Chainz” Sloan doesn’t waste any time going for the first cover of the match, hooking both legs...
ONE!
TWO!
Teresa Tomas kicks out. Chainz picks up “The Top Rope Temptress,” whips her into the ropes and lifts her high into the air with a Back Body Drop. She lands on her back hard, crying out in pain. Tracy Stanton, Chainz’s fiancé, applauds her man. Mike Sloan walks over to his opponent, picks her up, scoops her up into his arms and slams her on her back hard with a Body Slam. He goes for another cover...
ONE!
TWO!
Teresa Tomas kicks out before three. Mike Sloan gets to his feet, picking up Tomas by her hair again and whips her into the ropes. He goes for a Clothesline, but the “Redneck Princess” switches gears and takes Chainz down with a Hurricanrana! The fans are on their feet, cheering for “THE American Woman.” She gets to her feet, runs over to the ropes, jumps onto the top rope, does a springboard and goes for a Moon Sault, but Chainz rolls out of the way. Double T lands on her chest.
Mike Sloan is on his feet again, trapping one of Teresa Tomas’ legs with his and drops down to lock in a Face-lock. Tomas is screaming in pain as Chainz wrenches back with the STF, inflicting as much pain as possible. Finally, after a good 10, 15 seconds of applying pressure on Teresa’s back, he breaks the STF, driving a knee into Teresa’s back for good measure.
4:00
Truth Waters: Chainz is dominating this match! He could’ve had Teresa Tomas tap out to that STF, but he was using it to torture her and to inflict pain on her back.
George Cassidy: That’s pretty much Chainz’s game plan, Truth - he uses submission moves to torture his opponents, not make them submit. That way he can soften his opponent up enough to put them away.
Mike Sloan gets on top of Teresa Tomas, wraps his large arms around the small of her back and starts to squeeze with the Bear Hug. Teresa bellows out in pain, trying to break free from Chainz’s powerful vice-like grip. Chainz inflicts more pain by squeezing tighter around her back, making “THE American Woman” bellow out in pain. She’s almost on the verge of tapping out but Chainz breaks the Bear Hug. She isn’t done until Chainz says so. The green-eyed monster picks up Double T, lifts her high into the air and slams her down hard with a Spine Buster.
3:50
Truth Waters: My God, what a Spine Buster by Mike Sloan, and referee Joseph Reid is in his ear for his overaggressive behavior.
George Cassidy: It’s not his fault that he’s doing what he does best - beating people up. It’s how he was raised!
Truth Waters: He wasn’t raised like that, Cass. He made himself into a monster when he slaughtered his parents!
Mike “Chainz” Sloan picks up Teresa Tomas with a Pendulum Backbreaker and drops her across his knee, and bending her backwards over his knee. She is wailing in pain, trying to fight her large, psychotic opponent, but to no avail. From what everyone is witnessing, Chainz is too big and too strong for “THE American Woman.” Mike lets Teresa go, allowing her to fall onto the mat. Chainz looks over at his fiancé, Tracy Stanton, and motions her to get onto the ring apron. She does what she’s instructed and Chainz walks over to her, running his fingers through her blond hair, bending down to smell her scent, and plants a big wet one on her lips. Tracy appears to be shocked, repulsed and pleased at the same time.
Truth Waters: Ugh! Get a damn room you two!
George Cassidy: Aww, c’mon, Truth! Those two are in love!
Truth Waters: I’m gettin’ nauseated watchin’ those two make out.
3:00
Teresa Tomas slowly recovers herself, feeling great pain in her back. She gets to her feet gingerly and walks over to Chainz. He catches him off guard by going a Schoolgirl Rollup!
ONE!
TWO!
Chainz manages to kick out from the Schoolgirl Rollup! Both are on their feet, Chainz goes for a Clothesline, Teresa Tomas manages to duck underneath it, stops in her tracks and delivers a Neck Breaker on Chainz! Before she goes for the cover, Tracy Stanton hops onto the ring apron (large porn star chest jiggles as she does so) and get referee Joseph Reid distracted. “The Top Rope Temptress” rushes at Tracy with a Forearm Shiver, but Tracy drops from the apron before the shot connects. Teresa has a few choice words for Tracy, turns around and eats a Chain Link Super Kick by Chainz! He goes for the cover...
ONE!
TWO!
THR---
NO! Teresa Tomas kicks out before the three by shooting her right shoulder up, and Mike Sloan gets up, looking at referee Joseph Reid a hard, you-gotta-be-fuckin’-kiddin’-me look.
Truth Waters: Teresa Tomas is still in this match, ladies and gentlemen! She’s taking a great deal of punishment and she’s not staying down!
George Cassidy: I don’t get Teresa Tomas, Truth. She knows she’s beaten; why doesn’t she give up and spare the embarrassment of getting her ass handed to her by Chainz?
Two minutes remain in this Countdown Trophy Match and Mike “Chainz” Sloan has a malicious smile on his face. He grabs Teresa Tomas by her hair, sets her up for a Pump-handle, gets behind her and dry humps (and I mean hard~!) her ass! The fans boo in disgust while Tracy Stanton shakes her head angrily and looks away. After giving Teresa a good, hard dry humping, he lifts her up over his right shoulder and slams her down onto the canvas with a Pump-handle Slam. He goes for the cover, hooking her leg and placing a hand on her chest, giving both breasts a good squeeze to add insult to injury...
ONE!
TWO!
THR---
NO! Teresa Tomas kicks out and throws an elbow right into Chainz’s eye! He bellows out, covering his eye with his hand.
Truth Waters: You go, Teresa! I hope you blinded that bastard!
George Cassidy: Chainz kicks a field goal and it’s GOOD!
Indeed he is, George Cassidy. As Teresa Tomas slowly gets to her feet, Chainz charges at her, planting his shoe right into her ribs, lifting her a few feet into the air and slams down hard onto the mat. Chainz looks over at the Atlantic Tron to see there’s ninety seconds remaining in the first half of the match. He bends over to get Teresa to her feet, but Tomas pulls a fast one on the green-eyed monster and takes him down. She quickly gets to her feet, grabs Chainz’s right arm, twists it around her leg, drops down to her knee and pulls back on a leg, locking in her submission finisher!
Truth Waters: SOUTHERN COMFORT! BREAK HIM HALF, TERESA JANE TOMAS!
George Cassidy: HANG IN THERE, CHAINZ! YOU GOT 30 SECONDS LEFT!
Teresa Tomas looks up on the Tron to see she has thirty seconds to make Mike “Chainz” Sloan tap out. She pulls back on the maneuver, hearing Chainz groan in pain and dragging himself towards the ropes. He’s halfway there, feeling confident that he’ll make it to the ropes, but Tomas jumps on the small of his back, and pulls back on his leg more. She turns to her left, burying her knee into Chainz’s back and stretching Chainz’s leg over her shoulders with the Stretch Muffler (or Argentine Leg-lock). Chainz bellows out in pain at the uncomfortable angle his back is arched in, and the fact he has his leg over Teresa’s shoulder, and has one of her knees buried into the small of his back! The bell rings and Chainz taps out!
Truth Waters: HE TAPPED OUT! REF, HE TAPPED OUT!
George Cassidy: He tapped out after the bell rang.
Teresa Tomas falls onto her back, knowing she hasn’t defeated Mike Sloan yet. She’s exhausted and extremely sore after the punishment she’s going through. She slowly gets to her feet, about to go for her Southern Comfort maneuver, but Chainz grabs a hold of her pants and tosses her out of the ring. Teresa collides against the security wall with a THUD! “The Top Rope Temptress” gingerly gets to her feet, placing a knee on the ring apron and pulling herself up. Before she can get into the ring, Tracy Stanton hits Double T hard in the back with a steel chair! The Louisiana fans jeer and Teresa falls through the top and middle ropes, crashing onto the canvas.
Truth Waters: DAMN THAT WOMAN! DAMN TRACY STANTON TO HELL!
George Cassidy: That’s what Teresa Tomas gets for trying to steal her man!
Truth Waters: I’m not gonna even comment on that, Cass, unless you want a fist in the face.
George Cassidy: I take back what I said! Sheesh!
Mike “Chainz” Sloan slowly gets to his feet, wincing as his back took some damage. He bends over, sets Teresa Tomas’ head in between his legs and picks her up for the Power Bomb. He drills her onto the mat; keeping his hands clasped, he lifts her into the air again and slams her onto the canvas with another Power Bomb. He goes for the cover, hooking the leg...
ONE!
“Cure” by The Wild Colonials start to play as the fans jeer at Chainz, and ring announcer James Brunt announces the winner...
James Brunt: The winner of the match as a result of a pinfall, and still the Countdown Trophy holder... CHAINZ!
Truth Waters: Dammit to hell! Chainz pulled a Vince Jones and retains the Countdown Trophy! If it wasn’t for Tracy Stanton’s interference, this match would’ve ended differently, that’s for damn sure!
George Cassidy: It looks like Chainz isn’t done with Teresa Tomas yet!
Mike Sloan gets to his feet and stands over Teresa Tomas. He picks her up by the hair, starts badmouthing her and sets her up for a Power Bomb.
Truth Waters: THAT’S ENOUGH, CHAINZ! SHE’S BEATEN!
George Cassidy: Mikey O’Reilly’s coming down to the ring! What the hell...?
Mikey O’Reilly slides into the ring and blasts Chainz in the side of the head with his Frontier title belt! Chainz falls onto his side and O’Reilly gets Teresa Tomas out of harms way. Mike Sloan is stirring from O’Reilly’s attack. “Tha’ Fokin’ Pikey” throws a heavy right hand into Sloan’s face, then gets him to his feet, setting his head in between Mikey’s legs. Mikey lifts Chainz over his shoulder with a mighty bellow, interlocking his arms with Chainz’s, dropping onto his knees and spikes Chains on the back of his neck with the Crucifix Pile Driver!
Truth Waters: Falling of Christ by Mikey O’Reilly! He hope he broke Chainz’s neck with that move!
Mikey O’Reilly sits Chainz up, grabs his Frontier title belt and shoves it in Chainz’s face.
Mikey O’Reilly: You’ll never EVER take this title away from me, Sloan. As I said before, you’re gonna hafta out-wrestle this title away from me!
George Cassidy: Ooh! Mikey O’Reilly has done messed up, Truth! You don’t attack Chainz and get away with it, Truth! You can count on it!
Truth Waters: I don’t think O’Reilly cares, Cass! These two men hate each other and they’ll kill each other in the middle of that ring! From that last two matches they’ve had, they did just that, but Chainz walked away the victor from those two matches.
George Cassidy: Indeed, Truth, and Chainz’ll beat him for the third time and take that title if he wants to! There’s nothing Mikey can do about it!
Mikey O’Reilly helps Teresa Tomas to her feet and gets her out of the ring while Tracy Stanton slides into the ring to check on her man.
Truth Waters: Well, ladies and gentlemen, Chainz is still the Countdown Trophy holder due to Tracy Stanton’s interference. Coming up next is the Main Event Barge Match! There’s five WA tour superstars and three EA tour superstars! Who’s gonna come out on top? We’ll find out - now!
Foiled
FEATURING: THE FURIOUS FISTS OF GOD
AUTHOR: SAM LANDRY
The scene opens up with Tim and Liam Martin, standing around.
Tim Martin: Well, my brother, I believe that The New Black have failed again!
Liam Martin: YES! WE STAND VICTORIOUS UNDER THE HAND OF GOD!
Tim Martin: MHM! Now, a celebration drink... let me grab a couple bottles of water out of our bag... *unzips* Let's see here... uh... OH FUCK!
Tim removes a bible, torn and ragged.
Liam Martin: OH LORD! THOSE MONSTERS!
Tim Martin: AH!... THEY'VE RIPPED OUT NUMBERS!
Liam Martin: THEY DESTROYED NUMBERS?!... THEY HAVE NO SOUL!
Tim Martin: And what's all this...
Tim digs further into the bag... he then pulls out a hand full of marijuana joint cigarette roaches.
Tim Martin: The weed of the devil... in... our bag? MADE OF NUMBERS?!
Liam Martin: I think I'm... gonna...
HURRRRRRL!
The scene ends with Tim staring angrily at the roaches and Liam keeled over.
Battle On The Barge
STIPULATION: RIVER BARGE MATCH
REFEREE: n/a
AUTHOR: PIERRE HYDE
In Abbeville, Louisiana, the river Vermilion is tranquil. Water laps gently against the muddy brown banks as a gentle breeze whistles through the trees; the setting sun provides a spectacular backdrop behind the advancing silhouette of a small canal barge.
The boat is thirty feet long; white with a black underside; a raised bow and central sleeping quarters. Atop the roof of the sleeping quarters sit three bicycles in custom racks, and an old, rusted barbecue. Behind the barbecue is a further raised roof, on which the sole occupant of the barge stands.
That man throws a rope from the barge, securing it around a wooden stake implanted in the adjacent bank. The stake is clean, light-coloured; stands out against the uniform dirt around it. It is clearly a recent addition.
Having fastened the boat in place, the man hops off onto the bank. Nodding to someone secreted in amongst the trees, he then makes his way into the thicket, and is gone, never to be seen again.
There is silence.
And then slowly, cautiously, Darcy Crisis pokes his head out from behind a tree.
Darcy Crisis: (looking back) Come on!
Grabbing Aimz’ arm, Crisis hurries out of the copse and towards the bank. He stops, meaning to help Aimz onto the barge first, but rather than need any assistance Aimz vaults past him, landing neatly on her two feet on the highest section of the boat.
Aimz: Where is everyone? It’s quieter than a feedback thread out here.
Crisis hops on board, landing next to Aimz; the boat lists a little in the river.
Darcy Crisis: Well, if they aren’t gonna show...
Aimz: Wait, I thought you no-showed.
Darcy Crisis: Oh, ha, ha. Let’s get this on the road.
Aimz: We’re on the river, assface.
Crisis smiles despite himself, and bends to untie the ropes. The barge had only been loosely secured, and it is but seconds before he and Amy Campbell are suddenly on their way, travelling down the river Vermilion, just the two of them.
Tim Martin: WAIT!
Or not.
The Furious Fists Of God, panting, having seemingly run flat-out to get here, burst out of the same gap in the wood where Crisis initially emerged and spot the boat beginning to move away from the bank. Aimz turns to Crisis and smirks, as Tim and Liam desperately hurtle towards them. Seeing that the Martins are going to make it after all, Crisis and Campbell adopt fighting stances as Tim and Liam thud loudly against the railings of the barge and pull themselves desperately onto the deck.
Darcy Crisis: Nice work; now where’s the rest?
Voice: Right behind ye, pretty boy.
Crisis turns in shock to see Paddy O’Shea, fist raised, having clambered aboard the barge from the bank further upstream. He and Aimz had been so distracted by the Martins’ approach that that of O’Shea had gone totally unnoticed. Now, however, the Man From The Caravan makes himself noticed with a forceful fist to Darcy’s face.
Tim Martin: Oh, this can only mean trouble.
Aimz turns away from the Fists and leaps at O’Shea, the diving tackle sending both tumbling from the roof of the living quarters to the outside portion of deck. O’Shea immediately scrambles up using the metal railings at the boat’s edge, but Aimz throws her leg up between both of his, and Paddy’s eyes immediately start to water as he clutches his REGIONS~!. Sensing an early opportunity to take out one of the biggest threats in the match, Aimz leaps to her feet and delivers a cross forearm intended to send O’Shea back over the railings, but the Irishman holds on doggedly, and knees Campbell in the abdomen.
The boat has now moved approximately its own length downstream. The Martin brothers have descended on Darcy Crisis; he currently stands doubled up between them as Tim and Liam alternate with clubbing downward blows, axe-handles and knee raises.
Voice: Ahoy maties!
Red Rock announces himself from the bank, before taking a massive run-up to long-jump the four yards or so between the bank and the barge. He crashes against the side of the boat, arms firmly around the railings, but his jeans are immediately soaked in the muddy Vermilion.
Red Rock: Gay, I'm all wet!
Red Rock comes up and over the railings to land on the deck just as Aimz, whipped by Paddy O’Shea, crashes against the barriers just next to him. O’Shea arrives, nodding to his Dupree Cup partner, and drags Aimz back up to her feet. Aimz angrily kicks out at O’Shea; while her attack connects, and Paddy spirals backwards against the side of the raised central area, Red Rock has stood up and grabs her leg while it is still in the air. Tweaking it as he considers an attack, Red suddenly has to duck as Aimz’ other leg comes swinging through the air in an athletic enziguri; he is successful and Aimz’ legs carry her sideways. Campbell falls abdomen-first on the railings and slides helplessly off the edge of the boat.
Aimz has been eliminated.
Relentless champion Red Rock looks as surprised as anyone that he has managed to inadvertently dispatch the Red Raver so quickly; he would have been advised to get over it a bit more quickly as Tim and Liam Martin choose now to leave Darcy Crisis bruised and broken on the roof just next to the bicycles. Each grabs an arm of Red Rock and throws it over their shoulders, before lifting him as if for a combined atomic drop. Red Rock is flung viciously downwards so that the boat’s railings substitute for the assailant’s knee, continuing the atomic drop analogy, and this causes Red Rock to plunge face-first into the water to follow Aimz.
Red Rock has been eliminated.
Aimz is calmly treading water waiting for the boat to move on so that she can swim to the bank; Red Rock, on the other hand, is in a total panic, thrashing violently and calling for his mother. Rolling her eyes, Aimz waits it out.
Red Rock: HELP! Bloody hell it’s cold, bloody hell... I'm freezing my nuts off! HELP!
Paddy O’Shea – after looking with interest at the increasingly steamy windows to the living quarters, but the drawn blinds and locked door prevent him from seeing anything – steps up next to the barbecue and pulls Crisis to his feet. A punch to Darcy’s gut later, O’Shea steps left and rips a bicycle from the rack.
Paddy O'Shea: How’s this fer a crisis?
O’Shea lifts Crisis onto the bike and gives him a shove, and before D Masta C can react, he is hurtling towards the bow; the bicycle takes him up and becomes entangled in the railings, over which Darcy tumbles, and down into the murky Vermilion. Scrambling to get out of the way of the oncoming barge, Crisis spits water from his lungs and curses.
Darcy Crisis has been eliminated.
With three of the big names in this match already gone, and two not even a part of it yet, things are a little quiet on the boat. O’Shea, stood on the central raised roof, looks around to find himself surrounded; one Fist advancing from either side. With nowhere to go, Paddy braces himself for double impact from the two 300-pounders...
Until the door beneath him is unlocked.
Tim, Liam and Paddy look down in surprise as the door to the sleeping area – all steamy windows and closed blinds – creaks open. And out pops a bearded face.
It’s Garbage Bag Johnny.
Garbage Bag emerges, clad only in oily dungarees. Behind him comes a flushed Ellis Nash, whose t-shirt is inside out.
Having taken a moment to recover, the Furious Fists descend upon Garbage Bag Johnny, throwing downward fists and dropping knees to stall the #1 contender to both Transatlantic titles. Ellis Nash creeps out onto the top deck instead, but Paddy O’Shea is waiting, and nails Nash with a spinebuster before she can even raise her guard. Wincing, Ellis writhes on the deck as O’Shea bounds along the roof and launches himself onto Liam Martin with a Lou Thesz Press! The momentum throws O’Shea onto his side, but Liam is stunned for long enough for Paddy to mount his body and start to throw punches. Tim won’t let it slide for long.
Tim Martin: BLASPHEMER!
Tim Martin moves over and hauls Paddy off, backhanding him across the chest. O’Shea stumbles back against the railings. Martin advances on the Irishman, but a sudden grinding noise coincides with a rocking of the boat and Tim loses his footing, falling back against and through the door of the sleeping area. The boat, having collided with the bank, lists away from it, veering sharply to one side, and Garbage Bag Johnny begins to roll out of control towards the railings on the opposite side to O’Shea, who at the same time is thrown forward to land flat on his face. Tim Martin reaches and with an effort slams the door shut, trapping himself within the sleeping area; he turns the key to lock it from the inside, self-preservation taking precedence over helping out his brother.
Ellis Nash dashes over as the boat rights itself to stamp hard on Paddy’s head – she really didn’t appreciate that spinebuster.
Ellis Nash: I really didn’t appreciate that spinebuster.
Liam Martin, rubbing his hands with glee, approaches from behind and waits for Ellis to turn. She does; he clamps his big hand over her throat. Garbage Bag Johnny has risen after his near-fall through the railings and is now in fact on the railing; he follows the railing around, utilising miraculous powers of balance, and picks up speed before leaping sideways; at the same time, Ellis Nash knees Liam in his REGIONS~!. Garbage Bag manages to grab Martin’s head in mid-air as he twists painfully away, and lands an awesome leaping bulldog! The momentum carries GBJ into the side of the barbecue, which collapses over him with a loud noise.
Garbage Bag Johnny: Mm, tasty!
Ellis struggles to pull Liam Martin to his feet; O’Shea comes to help her, a temporary truce between the two, though the spinebuster is not forgotten. O’Shea starts to come at Liam Martin with a fast sequence of jabs; the Fist cannot respond, and is pushed back towards the side of the barge, where Ellis Nash is waiting with a Decree onto the railings! Liam’s head is crushed against the metal. The Martin brother appears to be knocked out, but Paddy O’Shea is taking no chances. He grabs his legs and dumps him backwards over the side.
Paddy O'Shea: Later, ye fecker.
Liam Martin has been eliminated.
Nash engages O’Shea from behind, driving her knee into his spine and again looking for a Decree. O’Shea fights out of it, however; spinning around, he now hiptosses Ellis. She lands hard on the railings, her spine cracking against them, and with a yelp of pain she follows Liam into the brown.
Ellis Nash has been eliminated.
Garbage Bag emerges from the barbecue wreckage, grabbing hold of a rusty bicycle and wheeling it towards O’Shea. It goes in a straight line between Paddy’s legs; O’Shea is felled and falls straight over the top of it to land in a heap on the deck. Quick as a flash, GBJ reaches into his dungarees and whips out a high frequency emitting device. He holds it close to the door below him, behind which Tim Martin is hiding, and twists the dial until he hears the click of a lock.
Garbage Bag Johnny: (turning to the camera) Get your official Garbage Bag Johnny high frequency emitting device from the AWC website! Great for opening locked doors on barges!
Garbage Bag wrenches the door open and throws himself in. Loud noises are heard; metallic crunches and wooden thuds. A few seconds later, GBJ is flung back out, but now O’Shea is up and follows Garbage’s lead, entering the sleeping area of the boat to engage Tim Martin. Further noises are heard, and another body is flung out – but it’s not that of O’Shea. Or that of Tim Martin.
It’s that of FREDROCK~!
Or at least half of him.
GBJ lifts up FREDROCK~!’s torso with his feet and monkey flips it backwards; it falls into the river with a splash.
FREDROCK~! has been eliminated.
Garbage Bag Johnny hurtles into the sleeping area; now we can see none of the action whatsoever. Seconds pass before O’Shea emerges, carrying a limp Garbage Bag in his arms. Paddy walks solemnly to the side and deposits the double #1 contender and Hero of 2006 into the Vermilion river.
Garbage Bag Johnny has been eliminated.
We are left with just two: Paddy O’Shea, and Tim Martin, who is now emerging onto the raised bow of the boat. Here, at the highest and most precarious point of the barge, they brawl – Tim with his brute strength and underhand tactics; Paddy with his highly honed guile and know-how. Back and forth, back and forth they go, until one particularly stiff O’Shea uppercut has Tim Martin reeling. O’Shea moves forward to capitalise – one clothesline will win him the match and whatever prize comes with it – but Tim blocks the advance, and with Paddy defenceless, drives his fist hard into the abdomen of The Man From The Caravan.
Paddy is doubled up, and at Tim’s mercy. Martin lifts him up as if for a powerbomb, steps forward, and drops into a sit-out position, causing Paddy’s face to crash fiercely into Tim’s shoulders. O’Shea is now putty in his arms, and all Tim Martin has to do is lean back and shovel his body over, bit by bit.
But O’Shea is still clinging with one hand to the railing.
Martin turns onto his hands and knees, and laughs.
Tim Martin: Enjoying yourself, mother fucker?
No response from Paddy, who grits his teeth and tries in vain to get a grip with his other hand.
Tim Martin: Well I certainly am.
Tim Martin rears up and drives his head downwards, butting O’Shea’s fingers. Yelling in pain, O’Shea relinquishes his hold and drops into the water, fighting to stay afloat.
Paddy O’Shea has been eliminated.
Tim jumps up into the air in celebration, crossing himself again and again. He’s won. Not them; not the Fists. He’s won. By himself. He’s won the Battle On The Barge.
What he doesn’t yet know is what he’s won.
D'ya Like Dags?
FEATURING: JOSH MARQUEZ, STAFF MEMBER
AUTHOR: GARETH
The sparse surroundings of the locker room leave us in no doubt as to whose space we’ve entered. It could only belong to a new guy, one who hasn’t gained the respect to warrant a space with hot running water or carpet. Josh Marquez is standing by a tiny black and white TV monitor, watching the Fresh! main event. Along with him is one of the backstage crew who we always see on our screens but never care about.
“I’m surprised, O’Shea can still go. It’s sort of that old adage about not judging a book by his cover.”
Marquez looks at the backstage guy with a look that says ‘Shut the fuck up and go do your job somewhere else.’ Instead he responded with a harsh critique of the character of one Paddy O’Shea.
Josh Marquez: Paddy may have some skills but he’s pathetic. Seriously, the man is like a trained poodle. You tell him to do something and he does it, no questions asked. ‘Jump Paddy’ - ‘How high sir?’. It’s ridiculous.”
Staff Member: I guess. I feel sorry for him, after all, he used to be a star, everybody wanted him, but now he’s just depressed and looking for friends. He’s like the loser in one of those movies where he gets seduced by a girl and kills her husband for her because he thinks she loves him---
The comparison wasn’t the greatest ever and Josh was getting a little bored of the guy beside him talking. Unfortunately, nameless backstage guy was still going though.
Staff Member: ---when in fact she’s just been using him the whole time. I mean, if someone could make Paddy do whatever they wanted then they’d be able to do pretty much anything in this company.
Something clicked in Josh’s head right there in his cupboard sized locker room. No, he wasn’t going to seduce Paddy, that would just be weird. He was, however, going to tap into that needy side and use it for his own ends. Little did Josh realise it, but ‘Bet-On-The-Gypsy’ had been born right there.
No, F.U.!
FEATURING: THE FURIOUS FISTS OF GOD, ELLIS NASH, GARBAGE BAG JOHNNY, ???
AUTHOR: ???
The Barge match is over.
Since most of the competitors in the match (aka all but the winner) had come from the depths of the cold river, each had been retrieved by a passenger boat that brought them aboard and dried them off, with drinks for them to sip on as they were guided back to the arena so they could go.
The Martins, one triumphant but trying to contain himself in front of his brother, decided to pass the time by thinking of another plot to trick the New Black with. This one would probably revive the talking dildo. The brothers sit near the front of the boat where the wind attacks them but they don't seem to mind it. They look behind from the direction they came from, noticing the trash barge in the distance.
Tim Martin: That fucking smell.
Liam Martin: It's Nigger smell.
Tim Martin: No, that's a mix of Nigger and Sicilian. You know what they say about sicilians...
Liam Martin: Yeah, they fucking stink.
While a different boat escorted the other competitors to the shore, like Paddy O'Shea and Red Rock and Darcy Campbell (if they were riding back on the same boat together, it may as well be another fucking barge match), there was more than enough interaction on this one to keep the lowly driver entertained. After all, a boring night cargoing wrestlers would be no fun unless you made some plans of your own, right?
In the back deck of the boat, Ellis Nash sits on the edge and Garbage Bag Johnny is quick to console her. They didn't exactly have the best interaction during that match, but they knew the bridges were never burned after a few rough spots. And, really, who knows went on behind the steamy windows?
Garbage Bag Johnny: Hey. Nice night, tonight.
Ellis Nash: Not now, please.
Garbage Bag Johnny: Oh, alright, I understand and stuff. I just thought, maybe, kinda, you know, you'd like a romantic evening. And stuff. With dinner. And stuff.
Ellis Nash: I don't think I'm that hung---
Before she can finish, GBJ withdraws a couple of Tuna Sandwiches and box of Frazian Red Wine. And a scented candle.
Garbage Bag Johnny: I planned for a picnic.
Ellis Nash: First of all, did you pack this at the catering table? Or from the barge?
Garbage Bag Johnny: Which do you have a better chance of eating from?
Ellis sighs.
Ellis Nash: Listen, Johnny, I know how this all seems but I don't think I can---
"Oh, don't stop now, El. I was really starting to like it."
Ellis turns from Garbage Bag to face the driver of the boat, who's facing the controls with his back towards the Zero 2 Hero champion and his lady friend.
"It's like a fucking soap opera. You're just waiting for the best friend to come home and catch his girlfriend with another dude."
Ellis Nash: Adam?
The driver of the boat turns around to flash that shit-eating grin we've come to miss.
Adam Dick: In the fucking flesh.
Garbage Bag Johnny: Holy shit! You're here! Dude, guess what! I won a title shot and stuff against Lavelle an---
Adam Dick: I don't give a fuck what you have to say, you tobacco-stained zealot-fucker! YOU FUCKING BETRAYED ME AND NOW I'M FORCED TO GO ALL SAMUEL L. ON YOUR DICK-SQUATING, CUM SNORTING BITCH FACE.
Ellis runs to Adam who doesn't remove his hands from the boat's controls.
Ellis Nash: Adam, where the hell have you been? No one's been able to contact you---
Adam Dick: I'm surprised you fucking tried, Ellis. Figured you found this piss-drinker to keep you warm at night. BUT DON'T YOU WORRY ABOUT ME, I'M GOING TO BE JUST FINE---
She notices from his view that the docking pier, Pier Hyde, is just yards ahead of them. And they're closing in really quick.
Adam Dick: ---AFTER I KAMIKAZE THIS FUCKFLOATER TO OBLIVION!
Ellis Nash: Are you trying to kill us?
Adam Dick: EXCUUUUUUUSE MEEEEEE?! Sorry, but I just discovered my girlfriend is fucking my protege, my boring worst enemy took MY Transatlantic belt, some douchebag with stupid initials for a name has more heat than I do, and Mikey O'Reilly, SOME FUCKING HOW, is a fucking champion. MIKEY O'REILLY!!??! PARDON MY FUCKING NEED TO WHORE ALL THE ATTENTION, BUT THIS PLACE FUCKING SUCKS!
The Martins, annoyed by the commotion, decide to see what is going on.
Tim Martin: WHAT in the name of Judge Mills Lane and 2% Milk?!?
Liam Martin: Oh no, BROTHER. HEATHEN WEED DEVIL RETURNS!
Tim Martin: You ruined our bible!
Adam Dick: That's right, Jesus-Fags, and now I'm going to ruin your LIVES! GOOD BYE, CRUEL WORLD!
Adam begins to laugh frantically as everyone glances towards the front. Pier Hyde is just a foot in front of them, and the passengers quickly grab something for support and to brace themselves for impact.
Ellis Nash: Adam!
Adam Dick: I'm sorry, Ellis!
The point collides into Pier Hyde's backside. The worst results expected, the boat tears into the wood and sends splinters everywhere. Bodies fly around loosely and collide into random debris, chaos falling all around them as the boat crumples to pieces around the bridge and they plummet and sink to their doom.
Well, that doesn't happen.
Actually, the boat is only going about 25mph which isn't enough damage to break anything. The boat just comes to an abrupt stop that jerks everyone forward a few feet, and actually sends GBJ's nutsack railed into the guarding poll.
Garbage Bag Johnny: OOF!
The boat tips and grazes the side of Pier Hyde, causing damage to the hull and shifting the weight of the bridge as well. The Furious Fists of God, Ellis, and Johnny all lift themselves up to examine the chaos and recuperate themselves after the collision.
Ellis Nash: Adam? ADAM?!
Tim Martin: The white devil disappeared! Trickery!
Tim's claims were true. Amidst the lackluster wreckage of the boat, Adam is no-where to be found.
Ellis glances at Garbage Bag, who is still hunched over and holding his sack.
Garbage Bag Johnny: So, you still want that sandwich?