Fresh! Results16th May 2006
Friends And Foes
FEATURING: MIKEY O'REILLY, TERESA TOMAS, ZSASZ, DUKE WILLIAMS
AUTHORS: JEREMY J. AND SONYA
“So... she thinks you’re a lesbian, huh?”
Mikey O’Reilly and Teresa Tomas are sitting in Mikey’s locker room having a beer and a smoke. Mikey is actually in a better mood after what had transpired earlier in the even and what happened last week. He didn’t get his Relentless title shot for this week, but it doesn’t really matter to him at the moment. Someday he’ll get a title shot; it’s still early in his career to make that step forward.
Teresa Tomas nods her head, taking another swig of her beer. She’s also in a very good mood. She reunited with an old friend from PCW, Duke Williams, and won their first Duo Tag match together last week against the former WWA World Tag Team champions, The Detonators. But after that match, her neck had been bothering her. After taking that tandem Time Bomb maneuver, her neck had been stiff and sore. Earlier in the week she went to see her doctor, had X-Rays taken on her neck and everything looked fine. No serious damage.
Teresa Tomas: Yeah. That conniving little bitch will make up any story if another girl feels her up. Hell, it was an accident when I tweaked her nipples. It’s not my fault she has knockers the size of watermelons to grab on to. Besides, they felt pretty fake to me.
She lets out a laugh, taking a drag off her cigarette and takes another swig of her beer. There’s a knock on Mikey O’Reilly’s locker room door and a security personnel pops his head in, looking over at Teresa Tomas.
Taz Yorke: Time’s up, Ms. Tomas. You have to go back to your locker room now.
Teresa Tomas nods and looks over at Mikey O’Reilly, patting him on the knee.
Teresa Tomas: Thanks for the beer. See you around.
They both raise to their feet, gave each other a tight embrace and “The Top Rope Temptress” sees herself out. Teresa Tomas walks toward her locker room. After news broke out that she was accused of murdering her longtime manager, Bob, she’s been treated differently, been frowned upon or people simply didn’t acknowledge her presence. They all think she was guilty, but it didn’t matter to her. She knows the truth and that’s the only thing that matters.
When she gets halfway to her locker room, she hears a deep, familiar voice. The words that followed sends chills up her spine.
Voice: Hello... murderer.
Teresa’s face contorts in anger when she turns around to see Zsasz looking at her, smiling his sadistic, pearly white smile. His sapphire blue eyes are locked on her baby blues. Zsasz doesn’t bother to make a move towards Teresa because of the heavy police and security detail.
Zsasz: I see that they allow murderers to post bail. ’Tis a travesty really, having you walking around, waiting for the right time to kill again. No one’s going to be safe with you around. They should’ve locked you up and threw away the key. With you walking around, who’s going to me next? Luis Ferrara? Tracy Stanton? Jasmine? Sarah Kennedy? ...Me?
Teresa Tomas: Annoying prick!
Teresa Tomas hurls herself at Zsasz, grabbing a hold of Zsasz and ready to knock his block off. Zsasz simply stands there, staring down at her as his sapphire blue eyes wills her to strike him. Before she can hit the sardonic narcissist, someone from behind grabs her and pulls her back. It’s none other than “The Malice Man” Duke Williams. “THE American Woman” almost jumps out of her skin and turns around to see who it is. She is relieved that Duke has come to her rescue.
Duke Williams: Whoa there, hossette! No need to get into a tussle and get your pretty self in jail. Come along with me before you get yourself into trouble. Duke Williams looks over at Zsasz then escorts her out of the “war zone” so to speak. Zsasz watches on, smiling at both rednecks. Zsasz: Yes, send that filth from whence she came. We don’t need another murderer on this planet.
Zsasz walks away, laughing. Teresa Tomas turns around about to attack him, but Duke Williams intervenes and pulls her back.
Duke Williams: Don’t lower yourself to be like him, hossette. Things won’t bode well if you fight him.
Nodding in agreement, she walks with Duke Williams. She turns to look over her shoulder to see the retreating Zsasz. She mutters something inaudible and then turns away.
Introduction - With Added Duck!
FEATURING: DAVE KERN, JEFF MARX, STEVEN SMITH
AUTHORS: PIERRE HYDE AND DAVE HURST
The AWC logo fills the screen, and then fades away to show a darkened arena. Abrupt fireworks on the stage, cheers, and then the lights suddenly flash bright with the grungy beginnings of “E-Pro” by Beck. The fans in the Scandinavium arena go mental, screaming their lungs out as the video screen bursts into action with highlights of the first year of AWC. All the big spots are there: Hate tossing Pierce Lavelle off the bus in the Streets of London match; Jack Murphy’s flying Bull Charge on Tim Shipley in the Triangles structure; Chainz taking a dive through a glass window at Twilight of the Gods; and many more.
See me coming to town with my soul
Straight down out of the world with my fingers
Holding onto the devil I know
All my troubles will hang on your trigger
Take your eyes and your mind from the road
Shoot your mouth off but look where you’re aiming
Don’t forget to pick up what you sow
Talking trash to the garbage around you
The Transatlantic title belt fills the screen, momentarily fading through to a shot of Adam Dick, cocking his crowned head to one side as he flicks his eyes from side to side. And then it’s white light.
The camera pans back and sweeps over the arena, showing the thousands of fans in attendance leaping and waving their arms to try and get on international television.
Dave Kern: Hello folks! And welcome to another edition of AWC Fresh! We – what the-?
Voice: Quack!
Jeff Marx: What the hell?
Steven Smith: Eek! It’s a rabid animal!
Dave Kern: It’s just a duck Steven. It’s hardly going to bi--- OW!
Steven Smith: Ha, ha! I told you it was a biter. Ow!
Jeff Marx: Ha! Ow!
The camera turns to the commentary desk to show three ducks continually pecking at the commentators’ ankles. As the camera pans out a whole army of ducks starts waddling down the entrance ramp.
Steven Smith: Get these animals away from me!
Jeff Marx: Agh! What the hell is going on! Get these things out of here! Ow!
The swarm of ducks start to circle the ring in their own little group, looking surprisingly menacing on-camera as they gate crash AWC Fresh!.
Dave Kern: Well folks! Tonight we have some great match-ups! Including the Four Way Fury match!
Jeff Marx: Not sure how they’ll go ahead with these damn ducks out here though!
Dave Kern: If we can get rid of the ducks, we also have a Relentless title match tonight! Red Rock versus Anton Assault!
Steven Smith: And AgentDash! Is against Vince Jones tonight!
Jeff Marx: You just wanted to yell AgentDash, didn’t you?
Steven Smith: (solemnly) Yes…
Dave Kern: We’re expecting an appearance from Dr. Kasidy Drake, whose company Drakewerx Pharmaceuticals sensationally bought a majority share in AWC this past week! Could this have solved AWC’s financial problems that have come to our attention recently, and with that, the mounting feud between Entertainment Co-Managers David Harber and Sasha Volkyeva? Don’t forget we also have Ellis Nash vs Megumi ‘Butterfly’ Hamada tonight as well!
Jeff Marx: I’m sure they’ll be more hair pulling and scratching in that one than you can shake a stick at folks!
Dave Kern: Oh come on! Also Liam Martin, one half of the Fists, faces off against Captain Suleimon!
Jeff Marx: And don’t forget our main event match tonight folks! An inter-gender match as Darcy Crisis tries to thwart the might of Chainz!
Dave Kern: It’s not an inter-gender match…
Jeff Marx: Yes it is!
Dave Kern: Just get these ducks out of here, how can I call a match when there’s a duck nesting on the commentary desk?
Someone Rid Us Of This Infestation!
FEATURING: DAVID "PEARL" HARBER, SASHA VOLKYEVA, DAVE HURST
AUTHOR: DAVE HURST
The camera cuts to a corridor and follows David ‘Pearl’ Harber storming down the corridor. Well I say storm, I mean wade as fast as he can through the ducks that are all over the corridor floor. With the event barely under way and the ducks at ringside only just removed, with all the other ducks in the arena interrupting everything that is going on, I think it’s fair to say he is not a happy camper…
Pearl: What the hell is it with these ducks! Where did they come from!?
Harber comes to the door to his office and shoves the door open, slamming it behind him to gain some solitude from the duck infestation. With his back against the door, barricading it on the off-chance that the ducks manage to break through, Pearl shakes his head aggressively at Sasha Volkyeva who is sitting at the desk on the other side of the room.
Pearl: We need to sort out this infestation, NOW!
Sasha Volkyeva: What infestation?
Pearl: You haven’t noticed? This whole arena is full of ducks! They’re everywhere! At ringside, in the crowd, at the merchandise booth, in the locker rooms, in the toilets, everywhere! Do you have any idea how difficult it is to pee when a duck is staring at you!
Sasha Volkyeva: What?
Pearl: Never mind… anyway, get someone to rid this place of these ducks!
All of a sudden, the door bursts open sending David Harber flying across the room and falling over face-first. He gets up, dusts himself off with his face red with rage, turns to see the instigator and sees nothing but cheesy grin.
Man: Aloooooooooooooo!!!
Pearl: Who in the hell? What the hell do you want?!
Man: Alo mate, my name is Dave Hurst. I’m here to apply for a job. Well, me and my manager.
Harber expects to see a female valet, maybe a businessman-turned wrestling manager, or at least some kind of human, but instead Dave holds his hand out and sitting atop of his palm is Dave’s manager… a small plastic yellow duck.
Pearl: You’re kidding me, right? You have a duck for a manager? A du – wait a minute… you don’t have anything to do with all these ducks in the arena do you?
Dave answers, but can’t make proper eye contact with Pearl as he says it, choosing to look around at each of the four plain walls instead (blatantly lying). Pearl doesn’t notice Dave’s obvious guilty look on his face.
Dave Hurst: Er… no… what ducks?
Pearl: What’s wrong with you people? Doesn’t anybody pay attention to what’s going on? The whole arena is plagued with ducks! Hang on… do you think you could clear the arena of all of these ducks?
Dave Hurst: Yeah mate, easy.
Pearl: You’re hired. Now get rid of all these damn ducks!
Sasha Volkyeva: AAARRGH!
The camera pans to Sasha who has just opened a drawer of the desk. A duck has just poked its head out of the drawer and is now quacking incessantly.
Duck: Quack! Quack! Quack!
Dave Hurst: I’ll sort that out.
Dave walks over to the drawer and gently pulls the duck out, cradling it in his arms.
Dave Hurst: Out ya come little fella. Let’s get you out of Mr Harber’s office, you won’t find any bread around here.
Mardy Darcy
FEATURING: DARCY CRISIS, GARBAGE BAG JOHNNY
AUTHORS: NATHAN AND JOSH KALVELAGE
The cameras cut to Darcy Crisis, bursting through the outside doors into the backstage area. Reaching into his kitbag, Darcy takes a drink from his Aquafina water bottle. Looking determined in preparation for his main event match against Chainz later on, the Darcinator catches a few apprehensive glances from various stagehands and AWC personnel standing pointlessly to the side. Just before Darcy can reach his dressing room, he turns the corner and catches quite possibly the strangest scene in professional wrestling to date.
Garbage Bag Johnny is sitting down on a folding chair in the back. He's got a duck tied to one of the chair legs, and as the duck tries to break free, flapping around wildly, Garbage Bag Johnny fiddles around with a three hole puncher. When GBJ is finished fiddling, he pulls on the rope tied to his chair, reeling in the livid duck, and stilling it with a hand around the neck.
His eyes as wide as saucers, Darcy peers over at GBJ without so much as turning his head. However, suddenly realizing the fate of the poor duck, Darcy rushes to the rescue and frees the feathered hostage from the homeless man’s clutches.
Darcy Crisis: What the hell are you doing, you crazy bastard?!
Garbage Bag Johnny: Dammit! I haven't applied the tracking device yet. Help me catch it. That duck is full of ecstasy tablets that must be shipped by duck from here to America. It makes sense if you follow the trade winds.
Darcy Crisis: ……….yeah. Forget I asked.
Garbage Bag Johnny: I already forgot you asked twelve seconds ago. Say, aren't you facing that skinhead tonight? I hear he hates Jews.
At that, Darcy seems as if he’s about to go postal. Grabbing GBJ by the scruff of his coat, he slams him against the wall and looks like he’s about to tear the Zero 2 Hero winner apart. However, in grabbing Garbage Bag Johnny he unearths a foul smell from underneath the homeless man’s coat, causing the Darcinator to let go in utter repulsion. Darcy grimaces as he wipes his hands on his pants, backing up from GBJ just enough to escape the nearby smell.
Darcy Crisis: Alright listen here, Garbage Bastard. All I’ve been hearing all week is about how much of a “madman” Chainz is. I bet you think he’s crazy too. Hell, I bet you think I think that everyone thinks you’re crazy for peddling drugs inside a duck.
Garbage Bag Johnny: Chill out, man. I don't know what I think you think that everyone thinks. You want me to roll a spliff for you? It'll even you out.
Darcy Crisis: NO! I don’t want to be “evened out.” Because here’s the point, you smelly fuck: So far, you people have seen several sides to Darcy Crisis. You’ve seen the chill, cool and relaxed Darcy. You’ve seen the intently focused, take-no-prisoners Darcy. And unfortunately, last week I debuted a side of me I didn’t even know I had – the atrociously beaten and embarrassed Darcy. But I’m not done busting out personas just yet. You see, another BIG problem went down last week – that bastard Chainz put his hands… put his hands… on my girlfriend. For those of you who are unaware, the last time a psychotic creep put his hands on a ladyfriend of mine, and I was allowed to deal with that inside a wrestling ring, I FUCKING KILLED HIM. Buried him alive, in fact. There’s a reason you haven’t heard the name “Gutter Rat” since we turned the new millennium.
Garbage Bag Johnny: Actually, I think I’ve hea---
Darcy Crisis: Nobody cares. Now normally, Chainz putting his hands on Aimz wouldn’t be a problem I’d have to deal with. She could take care of him herself just fine. But the problem at hand is that Aimz isn’t here tonight. And I’ve got one hell of a point to prove after what happened to me last week.
Darcy turns to face the pesky cameraman filming Darcy’s encounter with Garbage Bag Johnny. He now speaks into the camera as GBJ looks on.
Darcy Crisis: Adam Dick, I hope you’re watching what I’m about to do next, because even though I came up short last week, we’re not done by a long shot… not after the way you screwed Aimz. And Chainz, I hope you bring every bit of that sadistic streak you’ve got to the ring, because you’re sure as hell going to need it. It’s time I show you and everybody else yet another side of Darcy. The sick, vicious and cruel agent of pure violence. The side of me that made Darcy Crisis the longest reigning Extreme Violence champion in PSW history!
With that, the camera turns to watch Darcy exit toward his room. Garbage Bag Johnny looks on almost horrified, before his face suddenly brightens.
Garbage Bag Johnny: There’s that duck! Get back here!
Ozric Mortimer vs Mikey O'Reilly
STIPULATION: SINGLES
REFEREE: LARS LARSSON
AUTHOR: PIERRE HYDE
Dave Kern: Straight into our opening match now, on this unique, duck-filled night in springtime Sweden...
Jeff Marx: Ozric... Mortimer. Round two for the former PRIME star who had the heat thieved from his surprise appearance last week by Kip Brown defeating him. Now Ozzy’s going to show us what he’s worth against the perennial cliché Mikey O’Reilly.
“Welcome Home” by Coheed & Cambria hits the speakers, the Swedish fans rocking out.
Steven Smith: What the...
Jeff Marx: That’s right, he stole Adam Dick’s old music!
Steven Smith: No, I just...
Steven turns back to the table, turning rapidly red. Behind him a few rows back is a sign reading “I want have Steven Smith babies” (excuse the English). The person holding it is the most beautiful Swedish person ever... the most beautiful long-blonde-haired-big-busted-small-waisted Swedish girl ever.
Jeff Marx: Oh momma...
Steven Smith: Hide me!
James Brunt: The following is a singles match. Introducing first, weighing in at 298 pounds... “The Mirror” OZRIC MORTIMER!
Mortimer brushes his hair over the top of his head and nods curtly at the crowd, who give the respectful reaction deserving of the mental patient whose extreme performances have made him something of a cult hero, particularly amongst the underground scene of Scandinavia. Former AWC monster Hate spent some time in Finland and Sweden, and the scores of disaffected youths who gather to listen to loud thrash metal and enact scenes of violence are a very real problem for the governments of these countries generally placed at or close to the top of the Human Development Index. Norway, little did you know, is the “best country in the world” by such guidelines.
Jeff Marx: The Mirror? I can’t see that catching on...
Mortimer enters the ring. He’s put on a bit of weight since his PRIME stint; the already hefty powerhouse now looks even more forbidding. Coheed & Cambria fade, and with a sigh of disapproval James Brunt lets his microphone drop to his side; he doesn’t get to introduce Ozric’s opponent.
Zsasz: Ladies and gentleman... the most prodigious Irishman AWC will ever see; MIKEY O’REILLY!
“The Enemy” by Team Cazares, and O’Reilly follows his manager Zsasz through the curtain and down to ringside. Mortimer folds his arms and issues a hostile glare in the direction of Zsasz, a one-time cult legend himself – those here tonight as Ozric Mortimer fans were packing the LOW shows as Zsasz’ followers just a few years ago. Zsasz knows this 30-year-old has nothing on him, so he sniffs and haughtily looks away. Meanwhile, his protégé enters the ring eagerly, testing the ropes’ strength as he goes. Lars Larsson, known to be the toughest and most precise referee in AWC, makes sure he is between the two men as he prepares to start the match.
Dave Kern: Ozric Mortimer is closely watching his opponent. O’Reilly’s three years older, but a much less experienced wrestler.
Jeff Marx: And you can see that. Look how keen the “pikey” is to get started. Mortimer’s content to simply stand and analyse.
O’Reilly steps forward to offer his hand. Larsson stiffens, then moves out of the way and keeps a careful watch as Ozric Mortimer slowly, carefully, takes his hand. Clenches. Shakes.
DING! DING! DING!
Steven Smith: Mmm, this is a long handshake, bet they love the feel of each other’s hands!
Jeff Marx: Oh, I'm not too sure Mikey O’Reilly is liking this handshake!
Steven Smith: Aha! It’s only Ozric that swings my way then! I bet he’d be a rough ride. Pity he’s not the best-looking...
O’Reilly winces in pain as Mortimer, rather than releasing his hand, tightens his grip more and more. Ozric’s head involuntarily vibrates from side to side, a consequence of him putting everything he has into absolutely crushing his opponent’s hand.
Dave Kern: It’s a show of power, and completely unsporting! Mikey O’Reilly just wanted a fair contest!
Jeff Marx: Then he should go to GCW or something! In AWC, you’ve gotta play the game to win, by any means necessary.
”OZ-REEK! OZ-REEK!” sing the Swedish fans, mainly deep male voices paradoxically cheering the heel. Mortimer mashes his lips together and begins to twist O’Reilly’s arm; Mikey brings his left hand down and grabs The Mirror’s wrist, trying to ease the hold, but Mortimer’s strength is impressive.
Jeff Marx: Hey, at least the ducks haven’t made it out here for this match.
Steven Smith: Yet.
O’Reilly, getting a little embarrassed now (the helpfulness of the sharp and angry shouts of Zsasz from ringside is debatable), kicks out at Mortimer, catching him on the kneecap. Mortimer just sneers, stepping round and behind O’Reilly, releasing the wrist for just a second as he scoops the adversary’s arms in from the side, lifting O’Reilly up and then down in a modified clutch atomic drop. O’Reilly rocks forward onto his hands and knees, and then his side, burying his face in the canvas.
Dave Kern: Nice take on the atomic drop by Ozric Mortimer, and O’Reilly’s not made the best of starts.
Steven Smith: Oh really Dave? I thought that was a simply fantastic beginning...
Jeff Marx: What? Oh, because he got a knee up his ass, right...
Steven Smith: (confused) What? I was just being sarcastic!
Mortimer bends to grab O’Reilly by the wrist again and pulls him back onto his feet in one movement; O’Reilly simply rotates back to standing, the non-movement of his own feet a clear betrayal of the fact that control is completely on the man briefly known as Q’s side of things.
Steven Smith: Zsasz is jumping up and down like a maniac!
Dave Kern: I wouldn’t blame him; his client is certainly not getting the better of proceedings right now!
The commentators simultaneously slam their elbows onto the desk and rest their cheeks against their upturned hands, heads turned to watch Zsasz’ antics with just the faintest trace of amusement.
Jeff Marx: (sighing) Hardcore icon, right.
At this juncture, Mortimer cycles his knee up and crashes it sideways, taking out the abdomen. Compulsorily O’Reilly bends down (ya just haffta) and Mortimer forms an axe-handle with his arms, slamming them down between O’Reilly’s shoulderblades. With a cry, O’Reilly drops to the mat.
Dave Kern: Mortimer compressing the Irishman’s spine there...
Steven Smith: Tha’ Fokin’ Pikey hasn’t done a “Fokin’” thing!
With his opponent on all fores, Mortimer leathers him in the side of the ribcage; O‘Reilly grunts and rolls over onto his back.
Jeff Marx: Mortimer shows us how they work it stiff in PRIME!
Dave Kern: PRIME of course coming off of their Ultraviolence pay-per-view; looks like a little of that has spilled over to Mortimer’s approach tonight.
Steven Smith: Boca always knew how to get real violent.
Ozric roughly wrenches O’Reilly to his feet and sets him in a front facelock. Gasping air into his lungs, he flicks his leg up, kicking the Irishman hard in the knee and at the same time rocking back into a DDT!
Dave Kern: Big DDT from Ozric Mortimer!
Jeff Marx: That’s good for Mikey O’Reilly; a solid blow to the head might knock some sense into him – or maybe even, you never know, some originality!
Mortimer swivels and turns O’Reilly onto his front to make the fall.
Dave Kern: You know what, Jeff, this could be over early!
ONE!
TWO!
Kickout.
Jeff Marx: No, it couldn’t.
Steven Smith: Jeff?! Why Jeff? Why don’t you ever address your comments to me?!
Mortimer gives O’Reilly a savage kick as he rises, stalking away towards the turnbuckle.
Dave Kern: Ozric Mortimer has been dominating this match, but even so, he isn’t satisfied with himself!
Returning to the scene of the crime, Mortimer bends and grabs O’Reilly by his head, forcing the lighter Irishman to his feet. He lunges at him with a wild and loaded forearm, but Mikey has the presence of mind to dodge and jabs Ozric in the face with his left hand. Mortimer blinks. Mikey O’Reilly takes the initiative, following through into a right jab and when Mortimer doesn’t respond, a swift segue through a left hook, right hand to the gut and finishing off with a heaving uppercut that sends Mortimer sprawling to the mat!
Steven Smith: Oh, he’s remembered how to fight!
Dave Kern: That’s the way!
Jeff Marx: Mikey O’Reilly having to resort to his bare-knuckle roots to get anything on Ozric Mortimer.
Rejuvenated, and spurred further by the sudden beginning of ”MIKEY! MIKEY!” chants, O’Reilly drops a knee over Mortimer’s head; the dull thud causes a few fans to wince.
Jeff Marx: That’ll give a brain-ache. If there’s a brain in there at all behind the malicious thoughts, anyway…
Mortimer snarls and sits up, but O’Reilly drives his boot into his spine. The blow would make any normal man scream, but Ozric doesn’t even give his opponent the smallest of victories by wincing. Nevertheless he cannot respond, and O’Reilly, eyes gleaming, takes his chance with the McGlintock Clutch!
Dave Kern: That’s no more than a choke!
Steven Smith: Actually, it’s a choke with a grapevine…
Jeff Marx: The, er, “McGlintock Clutch”, if you will, which I won’t.
Dave Kern: Mortimer appears to be having some trouble with it!
More elaborate chants for either side develop among the crowd as the submission attempt continues; the two men locked on the mat in an unsightly grapevine is hardly going to melt the staunchest of hearts.
Steven Smith: If I didn’t know better I’d suggest –
Jeff Marx: No, that’s not fornication, Steve…
There’s no visible struggle against O’Reilly’s hold, but closer inspection reveals that Ozric Mortimer’s face is screwed up in concentration as he keeps his entire body tensed, no doubt to permit some more give when he chooses to make his move. Whether he will be able to attempt such an escape at all is highly debatable, though; Mortimer seems to have relaxed into a kind of stricken euphoria.
Steven Smith: He looks as contented and happy as a sleeping baby, Ozric Mortimer in that hold.
Jeff Marx: Babies are repulsive.
Dave Kern: The concentration has gone from the face of The Mirror and he doesn’t seem to be moving. Could he have lost consciousness?
O’Reilly is still intent on keeping the lock tight, but referee Lars Larsson appears to share Dave Kern’s views, and bends closer to look over the state of things. Not even the tiniest movement activates The Mirror’s muscles.
Jeff Marx: There’s no way Ozric Mortimer is going down to a jobber-lock like this…
Jeff’s defiance looks unfounded as Larsson finally takes the plunge and with it Mortimer’s arm. O’Reilly shifts a little to allow it, aware that the match is won.
Dave Kern: The referee checking if there’s any life left in him…
”OZ-REEK! OZ-REEK!”
The fans will their hardcore hero an escape, but it’s not one that looks to be imminent as his arm drops for the first time. O’Reilly allows himself a small grin; he knows that he’s going to be evening up that win-loss record he cares so much about.
Steven Smith: This is booooring…
Dave Kern: Mortimer’s arm goes down once and the fans don’t want him to fail this early on!
Jeff Marx: Morty lost his debut last week and now if he goes down to Mikey O’Reilly of all people… there are gonna be serious questions about whether he’s still got it, you know?
Lars Larsson brings The Mirror’s arm into the air again, and drops it. Mortimer can’t knock any life into it; it falls.
Dave Kern: That’s two! If Ozric’s arm falls again, O’Reilly takes the victory with the McGlintock Clutch that he’s been devoutly applying for well over a minute now!
Steven Smith: It’s CLEARLY a choke! Surely they shouldn’t be allowing it?
”OZ-REEK! OZ-REEK!”
Jeff Marx: It’s looking grim for the ex-PRIMEate.
The ring official lifts up Ozric Mortimer’s arm for the third and, Mikey O’Reilly hopes final, time. He drops it – and it’s not even a contest. Right away, Mortimer brings it back up and waves it mockingly in O’Reilly’s face!
Jeff Marx: Hey!
The crowd explodes as a shocked O’Reilly twists his body to torque Mortimer further.
Dave Kern: Mortimer’s still got life! He’s more than still got it – he’s got it in ABUNDANCE!
Jeff Marx: He’s been fooling with O’Reilly the whole time!
Dave Kern: I don’t know about that, Jeff – why let Mikey O’Reilly prolong the McGlintock Clutch if he could get out and get back on top of things? No, I just think it’s taking longer than we thought for the Clutch to get to Ozric Mortimer.
O’Reilly seems to think the same. Rolled over in a slightly extended McGlintock Clutch, he grits his teeth and puts everything into the hold. He won’t let his honour take another hit by having his opponent break another three-count from the referee. The fans, though, are still on their feet. They sense a shift in the tides.
And as the second pass…
…they’re disappointed.
Dave Kern: Folks, it looks like staying in this match took everything Ozric Mortimer has. He hasn’t been able to make any progress towards getting out of the McGlintock Clutch that is being applied with a purpose by Mr. One Punch!
Jeff Marx: (sniggers)
Satisfied that the time is right, with Mortimer motionless, for another test of whether the contest is still a contest, Lars Larsson takes Ozric’s arm. Again, O’Reilly shifts to allow him to raise it fully; again, the referee brings it up. Again… it drops.
Dave Kern: This time it’s got to be over. I can’t see Mortimer coming out of this one still conscious!
Steven Smith: (moaning) Mommy, can I go play with my toys?
Again, the referee brings it up. Again… it drops.
”OZ-REEK! OZ-REEK!”
Jeff Marx: Am I the only one who thinks that… this might just be… a prolonged, elaborate…
Again, the referee brings it up. PSYCHE! Mortimer bitch-slaps Mikey O’Reilly!
Jeff Marx: …ruse?
Dave Kern: UNBELIEVABLE! He’s still looking in perfect condition! Mortimer’s been playing with O’Reilly this whole time!
The volume in the arena hits new heights for tonight as a frustrated Fokin’ Pikey releases the lock and steps away, eyes red with anger. He throws his tough boot into Mortimer’s side; The Mirror rolls towards the ropes and clutches the bottom one, breathing heavily.
Dave Kern: Two, maybe three minutes of the McGlintock Clutch… survived by Ozric Mortimer! With ease, even!
Jeff Marx: Mortimer just totally no-sold That Fucking Cliché!
Mortimer stands now on the apron; O’Reilly runs towards him and swings a fist. Mortimer just grabs it, and headbutts O’Reilly. O’Reilly gasps and goes to his knees, holding his nose. Mortimer gallops along the ring apron and manoeuvres his unwieldy frame up the turnbuckle.
Jeff Marx: MORTY’S GOING ON TOP!
Steven Smith: I wouldn’t mind submitting to a guy like him…
O’Reilly collapses forward and then rolls onto his back, leaving himself conveniently exposed for…
Dave Kern: Here he goes!
BODY SPLASH!
Jeff Marx: The spla--- no, O’Reilly got his knees up!
Steven Smith: Gee, Morty just broke his ribs…
Dave Kern: Not quite, but that was quite a comedown… literally!
Mortimer rolls over and over, massaging his chest desperately. O’Reilly stumbles over and hoists him up, then onto his shoulder.
Dave Kern: HERE COMES THE BLASPHEMY!
O’Reilly hits his devastating finishing move The Falling Of Christ, spiking the unfortunate Mortimer on his head!
Dave Kern: THE FALLING OF CHRIST!
Jeff Marx: Wait, O’Reilly is anti-Christianity? Since WHEN?
Steven Smith: I thought he was Irish…
Jeff Marx: Ah, research: the mother of all inventions.
Dave Kern: I think that’s necessity---
Jeff Marx: SHUT YOUR BLASPHEMOUS MOUTH!
Steven Smith: Wait, Jess is religious?
Dave Kern: Wait, Jeff is called Jess?
Jeff Marx: Wait, Hyde can’t type on a laptop?
ONE!
TWO!
THREE!
Dave Kern: There it is! O’Reilly wins!
O’Reilly raises his fokin’ arm to the sky as Ozric Mortimer breathes deeply but calmly below, not having been able to kick out of the pinfall.
James Brunt: The winner… MIKEY O’REILLY!
Jeff Marx: Great! Now Hyde can go watch the soccer! I mean football!
Pearl's Gay
FEATURING: ELLIS NASH, DAVID "PEARL" HARBER
AUTHOR: LIA
“So, what? Pippi Gothstockings gets a week to rest and I’ve got a match tonight? What is this bullshit?”
We’re outside an barely-open door, listening in on a conversation, ducks waddling around in the background.
“Ellis, Aimz was decimated last week. She needs this week off in order to recuperate.”
It’s Pearl.
And in response, Ellis says:
Ellis Nash: Recuperate? RECUPERATE?! Are you kidding me?!! She took one, ONE! chairshot and everyone’s acting like she broke her goddamn neck or something!
Envision Pearl trying to contain his temper, which he is.
Pearl: I seem to recall she took much more than that.
This doesn’t matter much to Ellis.
Ellis Nash: This isn’t fair! I want the week off too!
Pearl: The match is already booked.
Ellis Nash: So what? Cancel it!
Pearl: I can’t just cancel a match. It’s not that easy.
Ellis Nash: But it’s not fair! Aimz gets a whole week off and I have to go out tonight and tango with some butterfly?! I want the week off too!
Pearl: Ellis, come on. Stop---
Ellis Nash: I bet she's taking Prometheus. Can I get her fired?
Pearl: ...Er, well, with substansial evidence, perhaps, but I doubt---
Ellis Nash: Just give me the week off!
Pearl: NO!
Ellis is taken aback. Pearl clears his throat.
Pearl: I mean - look. It just isn’t going to happen, okay? You’re going to face Butterfly tonight, and you’re going to stop whining about it. Understood?
Ellis Nash: ...But...
Pearl: No buts. That’s it.
A moment passes. Instead of retorting, Ellis finds her feet and bullets up, nearly knocking over her chair in the process, apparently infuriated. She stomps off to his door, grabs the knob, throws her head over her shoulder and says:
Ellis Nash: By the way, you look gay with that stupid sweater-vest on!
And a huff, and a puff, and a kick of a stupid duck, and Ellis is out of there. Pearl, insulted, yells after her:
Pearl: It's a CRICKET! JUMPER!
Hell Spawn
FEATURING: THE FURIOUS FISTS OF GOD, DAVE HURST
AUTHORS: SAM LANDRY AND DAVE HURST
The scene starts off with Liam and Tim trudging down the hallway. Liam is shadow boxing with the air while Tim stalks beside him.
Tim Martin: My brother, tonight is where you will show the dominance of the WHITE LORD!
Liam Martin: *JAB!* HALLELUJAH!
Tim Martin: You will SHOW how the HEATHENS, WHORES, JEZZEBELS, and, in this case, the PSEUDO FIGURES IN MIDDLE EASTERN HISTORY FALL TO THE ALMIGHTY FURIOUS FISTS OF GOD!
Liam Martin: *JAB* Suleimon sucked Saladin's cock!
Tim Martin: This imposter of history is about to feel a wrath of the present. His pottery making and rug weaving ways are to be demolished by the fortitude of the…
QUACK!
Tim Martin: …what the fuck?!
Outside of the locker room marked "The Furious Fists of God", there are a group of ducks, just sitting there.
Liam Martin: What kind of hell spawn are these beasts?
Tim Martin: They're ducks, you idiot. Just because we're extremists doesn't me we're fucking dumb, ok?
Liam Martin: Sorry, brother, I was STEREOTYPING THE CHARACTER!
Tim Martin: It's ok, you're forgiven. But, seriously, what in the WHITE LORD'S NAME IS THIS!
Tim slowly opens the door, but it soon crashes open as a see of ducks fall onto him. Liam is to the side of a downed Tim as the camera peers into the room to see: ducks. Ducks muhfuckin' everywhere. It's like a…
Liam Martin: …GOD DAMNED DUCK STORAGE?!?!
Out from the side of the camera, Dave Hurst walks over with a clip board, with his trademark cheesy smile
Dave Hurst: Aloooooooooooooo!!! Dave Hurst the Duck Advisor here. What seems to be the problem!
Tim sits up, causing all the ducks on top of him to scatter. He grabs one by the neck and, while it squawks, he shoves it in Hurst's face
Tim Martin: Why the HELL are there DUCKS in our locker room, damn it?! THIS ISN'T A DUCK STORAGE CENTER! AND BY THE WHITE LORD AS MY WITNESS, I WILL---
Dave Hurst: Actually, yes mate, it is. According to this, signed by David Harber, this room is now the designated Duck Storage Center.
Liam Martin: WHAT?! Heathen, apologize for this NOW!
Dave Hurst: Hey, it weren't MY idea pal!
Tim Martin: Then WHOSE was it?
Dave Hurst: Uhhh…
Liam Martin: Tim, look no further! I ALREADY KNOW!
Dave Hurst: You do?
Tim Martin: Who, then, brother?
Liam Martin: It was SULEIMON!
Dave Hurst: Actually, it wasn't…
Tim Martin: It ALL MAKES SENSE! That middle eastern, cum guzzling sand-fag wants to get in your head, Liam! BUT YOU MUST SHOW HIM… no, now, you must TELL HIM THAT HIS TACTICS WILL NOT WORK!
Liam Martin: Hurst, your honesty saves you from Hell…
Dave Hurst: But I didn't…
Liam Martin: PRAISE YOU, BROTHER HURST!
Dave Hurst: No, you see…
Tim Martin: BROTHER HURST, YOU ARE FOREVER GUARDED BY US FOR YOUR TRUTH! PRAISE YOU!
The two brothers walk off. Dave is left standing there
Dave Hurst: What the---?
Marshall vs Jacobs vs Stephens vs Kinslayer
STIPULATION: FOUR WAY FURY
REFEREE: RICHIE TRAVIS
AUTHOR: PIERRE HYDE
Lacklustre performances characterise this disappointing Four Way Fury match. Big-name Kinslayer looks to have finally cemented his place in AWC history as a flop, while Zero 2 Hero loser Mike Stephens puts in the kind of performance that might almost lead us to believe that even UWF wouldn’t sign him. Sgt. Jacobs and Mr. Marshall are the only two who seem to care at all, but even their best efforts fail to excite the Swedish crowd who are baying for the more familiar AWC stars such as the absent Jack Murphy and the injured Mike Wade. After five minutes of tedium, Mr. Marshall hits a neat Alabama Slam on Kinslayer before making the fall as an unaware “Gadget” Jacobs puts the boots to Mike Stephens in the corner.
A Deal Of Interest
FEATURING: KIP BROWN, ???
AUTHOR: ???
Backstage at the Scandinavium, rising star Kip Brown leans against the wall, sipping a cup of coffee from the catering table. Though he's not scheduled to wrestle tonight, he's shown up anyway, clad in street clothes: a black t-shirt and jeans. The firm line of his set mouth screams out that he's ready for anything. So when a well-dressed man in a blue suit approaches in his direction, Kip's given him the once-over three times (so, the thrice-over - Ed.) by the time he reaches him.
The man is clearly middle-aged, though his exact age is hard to pinpoint. His hair looks like it was once a very dark brown, almost black, but it has faded in places, not yet gray but certainly on its way. He wears the suit comfortably, with the air of a life-long businessman, yet Kip can read a certain hardness on his face, even through the smile currently directed at him.
???: Mr. Brown, it's a pleasure to make your acquaintance.
The man reaches his hand out, a shyster's smile on his face, and enthusiastically pumps Kip's arm as the rookie sensation accepts the handshake, though not without some hesitation.
Kip Brown: And you are?
???: Of no importance as such. The man I represent, on the other hand...
The man smiles again, though there's something about it, a lack of warmth, a tinge of malevolence, that sets Kip on guard.
???: Let's just say he's a very important individual... one who has taken a great deal of interest in you, Mr. Brown.
Reaching into the inside of his suit jacket, the man pulls out a manila envelope. He holds it out, offering it to Kip, who takes it from his hand. Running his eyes over the envelope, front and back, Kip finds nothing of interest on its blank surface. Raising an eyebrow in question, he returns his gaze to the man, who is clearly amused.
Kip Brown: What is this? Some kind of movie deal?
???: Ha ha ha. Hardly.
Kip Brown: Then... what? I don't get it.
The man reaches out and taps his finger knowingly against the edge of the manila envelope.
???: Everything you need to know is contained inside.
The man clasps his hand again, and Kip finds himself shaking back automatically. As he pulls back his hand, he can't shake the sudden urge to run off and wash it in the nearest bathroom sink. He barely registers the man's respectful farewell.
???: Good day, Mr. Brown.
Watching the man walk off down the hallway, Kip Brown's eyes slowly drift back to the envelope in his hand, staring into it and through it. His fingers tighten their grip on its edge, and it is on this image that the scene fades out.
God To Play Chicken
FEATURING: THE FURIOUS FISTS OF GOD, CAPTAIN SULEIMON
AUTHORS: SAM LANDRY AND TOM HOLZERMAN
The scene starts off with the Furious Fists of God walking down a hallway — where have we seen THIS before, eh? — looking very furious.
Liam Martin: That Muslim, Jewish, Islamic, Buddhist…what the fuck is a Suleimon?
Tim Martin: Brother, it does not MATTER, he insulted our WHITE LORD and the WHITE MALE…
Liam Martin: No, brother, the WHITE PROPHETS!
Tim Martin: YES BROTHER! And therefore, he must be dealt with. But we cannot WAIT until the match tonight! Only vengeance, blood, guts, and possibly episodes of "Welcome Back Kotter" are in store for that foul beast when we decimate him right here, right now for his chicken exploits!
Liam Martin: THE WORD OF GOD NEVER SOUNDED SO GOOD!
Tim stops.
Tim Martin: Uh, Liam.
Liam Martin: Yes, my brother?
Tim Martin: Let's try sounding a little less faggy, ok?
Liam Martin: Oh, right, sorry Timothy.
Tim Martin: *smiling* Forgiven… NOW! LET'S GO!
The Fists burst down the hallway and, eventually, arrive at Suleimon's room. They burst in there to see him standing there.
Captain Suleimon: Well, if it isn't the Crusaders without a clue. Did the White Lord tell you to burst into my room without the courtesy of a knock?
Liam Martin: FOUL BEAST! SHUT YOUR MOUTH!
Captain Suleimon: Shut my mouth? You're the one who burst into my room like the Western heathens you are. I ought to crack you both...
The two brothers tower over Suleimon. Knowing he'd be destroyed if he even attempted something such as taking the two brothers on who were much bigger as he would most likely better fare in the match latter on. Suleimon may be hot-headed, but he's not dumb.
Captain Suleimon: *ahem* But given the circumstances, perhaps a little diplomacy?
Liam Martin: *ahem* FOUL BEAST! SHUT YOUR MOUTH! YOU BETRAYED THE WHITE LORD AND HIS TEACHINGS…
Tim Martin: So there we were, getting ready for our match and, in our locker room…
Liam Martin: CHICKENS! FROM HELL!
Captain Suleimon: Everything seems to be from hell for you, doesn't it?
Liam Martin: YOUR MOUTH NEEDS TO BE CLOSED…
Captain Suleimon: Let me guess…"beast from hell"?
Liam Martin: *To Tim* He is using his devil powers to jump into our minds!
Tim Martin: Liam, please! Now, Suleimon, we know you put those chickens there… and we demand an apology.
Captain Suleimon: What chickens?
Tim Martin: Ummm… Suleimon… WE KNOW YOU DID IT! THE ADVISOR ADVISED US THAT YOU PLACED THEM THERE!
Captain Suleimon: What are you talking about? Read my lips: I. Did. Not. Place. Those. Chickens. There.
Liam Martin: That's it, Suleimon!
Liam cocks a fist back to throw but Tim steps in front of Liam and puts his hands up, stopping an enraged Liam.
Tim Martin: LIAM! Save your rage… and we can decimate Suleimon in the ring…
Liam doesn't say a word and Tim guides him out. The camera turns toward Suleimon.
Captain Suleimon: Wait… "we?"
Suleimon furrows his brow and rubs his chin.
Captain Suleimon: Typical filthy cheating Americans...
Complector Rector
FEATURING: GARBAGE BAG JOHNNY, ADAM DICK AND HIS ROYAL COURT, ELLIS NASH
AUTHORS: JOE SCHMIDT AND JOSH KALVELAGE
Garbage Bag Johnny is walking down a corridor in the back, mumbling to himself, when he notices a door marked with the names "ADAM DICK AND ELLIS NASH" in boldface. Garbage Bag knocks on the door, and a graying, balding man answers.
GBJ: Uh, Adam? Did you age profusely since last week?
Pubert the Butler: I am Mr. Dick and Miss Nash's butler. You may enter, Mr. Johnny.
Garbage Bag Johnny peers around the room. It's gigantic. In the center of the room, there is a marble fountain in front of a "David" style statue of Adam Dick, exaggerated penis unfurled to the ground. An orchestra provides chamber music from one side of the room, and Adam Dick is in the opposite corner, entertaining foreign dignitaries who are smoking a hookah on an oriental rug by dropkicking ducks. Dick notices GBJ at the doorway and puts a finger up, motioning to be excused for a moment.
Adam Dick: Well, one more for the road.
Adam tosses one of the many ducks that litter the room into the air, kicking it as hard as he can against the wall.
THUD!
Duck: QUACK.
The foreign diplomats' cackles fill the entire room as Adam does the 'oh stop,' hand wave.
Adam Dick: Garbage Man! My new BFF. Sup foolio?
GBJ: Actually, I jus---
Adam Dick: Hold that thought!
Adam sees a duck trying to escape from his room, into the halls of chaos accompanied by many more ducks. But Adam darts towards the door, kicks it shut and grabs the duck with both hands before it can scurry away.
Adam Dick: This ain't Shawshank, bitch.
And then the King drop-kicks the fucking duck against the wall.
THUD!
Duck: QUACK!
The dignitaries knee-slap again, and Adam turns to address his butler.
Adam Dick: DAMMIT PUBERT, I TOLD YOU TO SHUT THE GOD DAMN DOOR. IF THIS HAPPENS AGAIN I'LL REDUCE YOUR PAY BACK TO NAIL CLIPPINGS YOU BASTARD.
Pubert the Butler: Apologies sire.
Adam Dick: Jesus, terrible help these days. What can I do ya for, J-Bag?
GBJ: Just trying to get out of sight. One minute, there I was, hiding some ex in a duck's hindquarters, and then out of nowhere, Darcy Crisis starts having a verbal seizure. I think he's kind of an asshole.
Adam Dick: You mean that bit---
The sound of a fire extinguisher on the other side of the room, where Ellis Nash is smothering a campfire flame slowly roasting a skewered duck (yes, inside the locker room) as the flames catch to the walls of the building. Ji-Himmy Jihad controls the extinguisher, drowning out the flames before this becomes a chaotic, duck-induced arena-fire.
Adam Dick: Dammit, Ji-Himmy! You'd better not have gotten that powdered shit on my roast duck! And I thought I told you to get all that sand out of your hair before you went inside anywhere.
Adam shakes his head.
Adam Dick: Anyways, we were talking about that chick, right? The one whom I DECIMATED in the ring last week? The VERY SAME Darcy Crisis whose life I crushed with a mere title defense?
GBJ nods.
Adam Dick: THE VERY SAME DARCY CRISIS WHOM EVERYONE THOUGHT SHALL BE THE FUTURE OF AWC, BUT EVERYONE IS WRONG BECAUSE THERE IS NO FUTURE OF AWC THAT ISN'T THE FACE OF ADAM DICK, ILLUSTRIOUS EATER OF FACES AND SKULL FUCKER OF MONUMENTAL PROPORTIONS?!
GBJ: I think so. I'm still a little confused about the whole gender thing. Is he supposed to be a dude with a mangina or just a really ugly chick?
Adam Dick: Are you dense? She's the ugliest woman since Dennis Rodman. Why do you think she has strap-on ass sex with Aimzzzzzzzzzzz?
GBJ nods as if Adam's words were a scientific breakthrough.
Adam Dick: Anyways, what was that foolio bitching about? Probably because I kicked her penis inside out, huh? That wouldn't surprise me. I do kick penises inside out, like, every day.
GBJ: Yeah, I think she mentioned something about an inside out penis. She was all riled up about that Chainz guy stalking Aimz. It was mostly crazy talk about something. I stopped listening when his vagina started spewing menstrual juices. Yeah, I distinctly remember that happening. Maybe we should get someone to mop the hallway.
Adam Dick is so angry, he has to pick up another duck and drop kick it.
THUD!
Duck: QUACK!
Adam Dick: WHAT THE FUCK IS THAT SHIT?!?! SINCE WHEN DO I DEFEND MY MOTHER FUCKING CROWN AGAINST EMO BITCHES?!?! ZOMBY KNIGHT!
Adam calls over Zomby Knight, who is eating live ducks with one single chomp. He bites off their heads and discards the rest of their bloody bodies on the floor with no regard to anyone's thoughts or feelings on the matter. Zomby approaches the two with a groan, creaking from his medieval armor every step of the way.
Adam Dick: I THOUGHT I ASKED YOU TO RUN THAT BACKGROUND CHECK ON DARCY CRISIS! YOU DIDN'T FUCKING TELL ME SHE'S AN EMO BITCH!
Zomby Knight: REUUUUUUUUGGGGGGGGGRKKKKKK.
Adam Dick: What the fuck do I look like, Zomb-O? Do I look like I assosciate with emo dykes?! Jesus, next you'll suggest I defend my title to MIKEY THA FOOKIN SHAMUS O'RIELLY WHO'S REALLY FROM BELFAST BUT THE BELFAST IN IRELAND NOT TO BE CONFUSED WITH THE BELFAST IN NORTHERN IRELAND THAT ACTUALLY EXISTS.
Zomby Knight: NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOORF.
Adam slaps his head.
Adam Dick: I need to come up with a better way to screen for contenders to my crown...
Intermission...
wiseasscomment: ...........
GarbageBagJohnny: I'm working on it- people keep trying to check out books and shit
wiseasscomment: fucking nerds
wiseasscomment: leave the library and get some sunlight you fucking vampires!
GarbageBagJohnny: it's 99.9 percent Asian
GBJ: What if you had a body double or something? You could have him fight against your challengers.
Adam Dick: Yeah, like he could test them to see how good they are. And if he ever started to lose, I could totally cheat and help him win! THEN I WOULDN'T HAVE TO DEFEND MY TITLE TO ANYONE! Well, until our arranged date of course. But HOW?! HOW can we ensure that the main event of Coast To Coast, which is like a fucking lifetime away, will remain billed as Garbage Bag vs. Face-Eater?!
GBJ: I had a few ideas for this body double. I thought about Vince Jones, but he's blacker than you, and I don't think he could win a match even if you did help him. You need someone who's undefeated - not just any kind of undefeated, but really fucking undefeated. So fucking undefeated that the word defeat is not in this man's dictionary, because he bought a bootleg copy of the dictionary from some thug on the street months before the actual dictionary was released just so he could say that he had read the dictionary before anyone else had.
Adam Dick: Good idea! But who would help me?! Who would want to help me?! What man is capable of defending the honor of their King?! Who is UNDEFEATED that is in this room RIGHT NOW that I would trust enough to DEFEAT all of my FOES before they even had a fucking CHANCE to step in the ring with ME?!
Both men sit silent amongst chaos, ducks, duck roastings, fires, duck kickings and ducks being coated in Platinum (you know you were wondering what Bitty was doing).
GBJ: Mr. Champion, there's something I have to show you.
Garbage Bag Johnny pulls a bootlegged dictionary out of his beard. He flips it open and starts reading words.
GBJ: ...deafeasible, defeatism... nope, no ‘defeat.’
Garbage Bag then closes the dictionary, and Dick and Johnny look each other in the eye.
GBJ: I'm the man with the bootleg dictionary.
Adam Dick: What the fuck are you talking about?! I'm talking about finding someone to champion my cause and you're talking about bootlegOHHOLYCOWFUCK! EUREKA! I HAVE THE BEST IDEA, LIKE, EVER!
GBJ: Well I had an idea but I guess it can wait for yours---
Adam Dick: Johnnyboy, I need YOU to be that man! Can you be my screening process?! Can you keep faggots away from my Transatlantic Crown?!
He puts both his arms on GBJ's shoulders. That means he's established personal contact, and really wants to drive the point home he needs Johnny's help. At least all those management training books told him to do that.
Garbage Bag Johnny reaches into his beard and pulls out a shotgun and cocks it.
GBJ: I'd be honored, Mr. Dick, to keep all those faggots out of your way... the only way I know how.
Common Enemy
FEATURING: MIKEY O'REILLY, AIMZ
AUTHORS: JEREMY J. AND KATIE
Mikey O’Reilly is walking into the parking lot, looking for another pack of cigarettes to use. He’s been under a lot of stress lately - things not going well for him in AWC, losing in the Elimination Table match and not getting his title shot against Red Rock later in the evening. Earlier in the evening, he told himself that the Relentless title doesn’t matter anymore, but the more the thinks about it, the more it eats him up inside. He should be wrestling for the Relentless title shot, not Anton Assault! He feels that he showed his dominance in that match, but obviously his dominance didn’t win him the damn match! With a win over Ozric Mortimer, however, things could well be turning around for him.
He makes his way to his car, opens the passenger side door and pops open the glove compartment, fishing for a pack of cigarettes. Taking out a fresh pack out, he locks up and heads back into the building. Before he enters the building, he sees a flash of moment in his peripherals. He turns to see Amy Campbell, A.K.A. Aimz, going to her rental to get something. She pops open the trunk of her car, takes out a crowbar and slams the trunk shut.
Aimz carrying a crowbar into the building doesn’t look good in Mikey O’Reilly’s eyes. He jogs towards her, calling out her name.
Mikey O’Reilly: Amy! Wait up!
Aimz quickly turns around, about to swing her crowbar at the assailant’s head. Before she does, she realizes it’s Mikey O’Reilly. She relaxes, loosens herself up and looks at Mikey with agitation in her eyes.
Aimz: YOU CAN’T JUST SNEAK UP ON PEOPLE LIKE THAT, FUCKBONNET!
Mikey O’Reilly: Sorry to startle ya, Amy... What are ya doin’ with that crowbar?
He expected a run-around answer, but he shouldn’t have. Instead, Amy states exactly what she’s fixing to do.
Aimz: I’m getting ready to brain baldo AND put some dents in our champ's crown. Now, if you'll excuse me...
She pushes past him and marches her way into the building, crowbar in her right hand. Mikey O’Reilly knows that this is going to get messy in a hurry. Mikey ran after “The Red Raver” stopping her again. This time, she did take a swing at him. Mikey quickly ducked underneath the crowbar shot and looks at her with eyes as wide as saucers.
Mikey O’Reilly: What the fuck was tha’ fer, Amy?! I’m not the fuckin’ enemy here!
Aimz: Who’s the one getting in my way then, Drinky Crow? Sure isn’t Chainz, but I’d suggest getting the fuck outta my way so it CAN be...
Mikey O’Reilly: If you do what you feel like here, yer gonna get arrested for murder! That’s the end of your career, Amy!
Aimz: Rad. It’d kinda turn me on to be locked up knowing Sloan and Dick weren’t walking.
It appears that Aimz is going to be hard to control after what happened last week. He grabs at Aimz’s arm and turns her around, his brown-green eyes look into Aimz’s blue and brown eyes.
Mikey O’Reilly: Wait a goddamn minute, all right? Just hear me out.
Mikey knows how pissed off she is; he feels the same way. He wants to dismantle Mike “Chainz” Sloan has bad as Aimz does. If he can calm her down and have her thinking rationally, there won’t be a homicide tonight.
Mikey O’Reilly: You and I have a common enemy in Chainz, and I know he’s facing your boyfriend in the main event. But... I have a plan that may work if you’re a willing participant.
Aimz lets out a sigh. Why can’t anyone let her do her own thing?
Aimz: I’ll listen, ONLY for a fucking second... I’ve got real work to do here.
Mikey O’Reilly smiles at Aimz and walks with her, telling her about the plan he has for the main event...
Perception Isn't Reality
FEATURING: DAVID "PEARL" HARBER, SASHA VOLKYEVA
AUTHOR: PIERRE HYDE
“Finally!”
A scandalised David “Pearl” Harber looks up from his computer as the elegant Sasha Volkyeva glides into his office. Pearl is stressed – ducks, ducks, ducks are on his mind, and he could really do without them as he’s got far bigger things to worry about – not least, the woman who just entered his office.
Pearl: Where have you been? I'm trying to get a pest control agency over here, but... how’s Hurst doing?
Volkyeva says nothing, not even acknowledging Harber’s question as she takes a seat by the window looking out on the rainy parking lot. Pearl runs a sweaty palm up through his ruffled hair.
Pearl: Have you heard from Drake? He’s surely supposed to have arrived by now---
Sasha Volkyeva: He is not coming.
Pearl: I'm sorry?
Sasha Volkyeva: I said, he is not coming.
Harber stands up involuntarily, staring down at the back of his colleague’s head.
Pearl: And you didn’t tell me? You mean to say I’ve been spending all this time on the phone to his representatives for nothing?
Sasha’s reply is little louder than a murmur:
Sasha Volkyeva: I have been spending my time a little more productively, David...
That’s it. Harber marches over and grabs the back of her swivel chair, turning it round to face him. Volkyeva squeals and instinctively draws her body in, an action that surprises Pearl; such an action should surely not bring such an immediate and defensive response. But there’s a lot he doesn’t know about her past... a lot that we don’t know either.
Pearl: Look, Sasha, I'm trying to do my job here and it’d be nice if you could at least grant me your fullest attention!
Sasha’s demeanour changes from fragile to commanding. Her blazing eyes force Pearl to retreat, and now the blonde Russian stands.
Sasha Volkyeva: (softly) Did I not make things clear enough last week, David?
Harber swallows.
Pearl: Crystal. But I thought---
Sasha Volkyeva: Dr. Drake’s actions change nothing. Have you not seen this coming, David? Could you not smell the blood on the wind? We have always been on a fraught path, David, and it is time for us to come to a head. It is inevitable. Yes, Dr. Drake is investing. A large amount; a very large amount. But with investment comes inspection; with inspection comes a desire for efficiency. Did you study economics, David?
Pearl: I... I got a diploma in sports science...
Sasha Volkyeva: (curtly) I thought not. Now tell me, David, why are two of us doing the work of one?
Harber appears lost.
Pearl: Because... because...
Sasha Volkyeva: Because nothing. Dr. Drake will not know or care for the history of Atlantic Wrestling Club. He will arrive and see two of us doing the job of one. The rift opened a long time ago, David – even if there was the room for the two of us, it could never last. Not with our differences. Never.
Harber digests what she says, then turns and walks away.
Pearl: Why do you do this, Sasha? Why do you even want to be here? You’ve got money, you don’t care about wrestling...
Sasha Volkyeva: Turn to face me, David. If you expect me to afford you courtesy, I require the same.
Harber sneers and turns around.
Sasha Volkyeva: Now...
She paces slowly towards Harber and raises her arm to his face, running a long finger down the original Entertainment Manager’s cheek.
Sasha Volkyeva: Do you like mystery stories, David?
Pearl: I... sure...
Sasha Volkyeva: A murder, a detective is hired, he solves the crime, he confronts the guilty party. And what always happens, David? What always happens then?
Harber swallows, wondering where Sasha could be headed with this.
Pearl: He... he confesses...
Sasha Volkyeva: And?
Pearl: He... he says how he did it...
Sasha Volkyeva: How... and why. And Hollywood, David, Hollywood makes sure that the hero will save the day. Right after the murderer, the genius has stupidly spluttered out his deepest, most secret, inspired methods and rationale... something happens. Something happens, and he is incriminated. He has confessed. To everything. The how and the why. He held all the cards... and he laid them, face-up, on the table.
She suddenly rakes a nail down his cheek. Harber yells out and recoils, backing away.
Sasha Volkyeva: Worthless.
Pearl: (spluttering) So what?
Sasha Volkyeva: So you may come to your own conclusion. Why do I want this, David? I am not going to tell you, because I do not choose to surrender any cards that may trump your paltry hand. Now!
She stands straight. After a moment, Pearl looks up at her expectantly.
Pearl: What?
Sasha Volkyeva: Unity. For now; for the moment. That is how we keep control. Behind the scenes, David – we are not together; we are opposing sides waiting for the clash. But outwardly, we must keep control, or neither of us will reap the spoils of winning a battle that is between us, David, and only us. Personal.
Harber sits back at his desk, and wearily clasps his hands. Volkyeva, momentarily, sits by the window again.
Pearl: Between us and only us?
Sasha Volkyeva: That is what I---
Pearl: Then what’s Anton doing, Sasha? And Murphy before him, and Chainz before him, and Dick before him? If this is gonna be personal then at least keep it that way. Don’t say one thing and do another.
Sasha Volkyeva: Anton is simply my protector. A wise investment. But you, David, are not an economist... so you do not think in the correct terms. Game theory, David! Read about it.
Pearl waves a hand dismissively.
Pearl: I... I don’t read books.
Sasha Volkyeva: You dismiss the one weapon I offer you? Then fine, David. Fight the battle on your own terms. And lose. Now! Unity!
She stands tall once more.
Sasha Volkyeva: I am going to fetch Adam Dick!
Pearl stares at her.
Pearl: WHAT?!
Sasha Volkyeva: You know what we must do.
AgentDash vs Vince Jones
STIPULATION: SINGLES
REFEREE: AARON DAVIES
AUTHOR:
Match to be added. Spoiler winner (highlight to view): AGENTDASH.
Laying Down The Law
FEATURING: SARAH KENNEDY, THE ROYAL COURT
AUTHORS: JOE SCHMIDT AND JOSH KALVELAGE
Sarah Kennedy: I’m standing here with...
She doesn’t want to say it. The shit she’s seen because of this man drove her to avoid him for these past few months, but this time was unavoidable. She swallows her spit in a fit of disgust before continuing.
Sarah Kennedy: Adam Dick, AWC Transatlantic cham---
Adam Dick: TRANSATLANTIC KING, Ms. Bitchtits.
Sarah Kennedy: EXCUSE ME?!
Not even remembering his insult, Adam continues with disregard to Sarah’s offense. She didn’t want to interview him. Why couldn’t some random interviewer just be created for this one-off instant? Why must she be cursed with this task?
Adam Dick: Don’t forget I’m accompanied by the Royal Court. Ellis Nash, the lovely and STILL Frontier Queen, right at my side.
Ellis Nash: Word.
Adam Dick: Garbage Bag Johnny, AWC’s Hero of 2006.
GBJ: I go from Zero to Hero in less than five seconds. BLAM! WHIZZ! HANDLE IT!
Adam Dick: And as always, at least as of last week, we have Ji-Himmy Jihad, Zomby Knight, and Bitty.
Bitty: Playa dis shit ain’t flossa b. I be dat talkin fool knawhatamsayin? I ain’t playin no mofuggin mo’money shit unless dem mics be PLATINUM.
Sarah looks down the line of entourage to Bitty, one eyebrow raised and her lip curled.
Sarah Kennedy: What did he just say?
Adam Dick: Sorry, but Bitty will not be speaking in this interview. Until Pearl decides to unJew his ass and get some PLATINUM in this bitch, Bitty will be throwing shit-storms every Tuesday for our viewing pleasure. So that’s a warning, Pearl! YOU HEAR ME?!
Bitty: BLING IT UP, PLAYA FOOL. I be hangin off dem Platinum balconies and banisters in my hood and shits. You think I role like some gold ass homo? Foolio, I murk on golds because gold done gave me cancer! CANCER! Luckily dem platinum blood cells take care of dem shits.
Sarah Kennedy: I thought you weren’t talking...?
Bitty: You betta platinum shut the fuck up nah, ya hurdmah?
Adam Dick: Bitty, please, she’s right. Let her conduct the interview. Go on, Ms. Kan-oh-deez-nutz!
GBJ: OH SNAP!
The two turn to each other for the obligatory ‘you just dissed that bitch good!’ high fives. Sarah is less than pleased.
Sarah Kennedy: Okay, I’m not doing this.
As she begins to walk away, Adam grabs her arm a bit forcefully.
Adam Dick: YOU DON’T HAVE A CHOICE, BITCH. You do your fucking job and you do it to the max! FOR YOUR KING! You think you have the right to just walk away from me?! Woman I will rape your boyfriend in the eye socket; effectively blocking out whatever homo shit he’s done in the past few days and make him hospitalized, strapped to his bed-pan, where every time he thinks ‘Chainz who?’, he reminds himself that FACE-EATER is his fucking Alpha and Omega before he shits himself once again. So, like I said: DO YOUR FUCKING JOB. Maybe I’ll actually let Lavelle back into AWC when the ban’s up, if you’re nice to me.
Sarah’s jaw is on the floor. She rips her hand away from Adam’s grip.
Sarah Kennedy: I don’t know who the hell you think you are...
Adam points to the crown.
Sarah Kennedy: ...But I’m not a member of the roster who’s used to taking your crap! You want an interview? Maddy Estelle is in catering.
She begins to walk away before Adam reasons with her.
Adam Dick: Are you kidding?! And let that bitch slut up my interview with her cleavage and drunkery? We need CLASS, Sarah! Transatlantic Class! The type of class that a successful working woman like yourself can bring to the table. SO what do you say?
She ponders it for a second. She knows she shouldn’t, but does so anyways.
Sarah Kennedy: Alright. But no more insults. To me OR Pierce.
Adam Dick: SURE THING, Bitchtits! Now on with the questions!
Sarah Kennedy: I thought you had something to say...
Adam looks awkwardly towards Ellis and Johnny, who both shrug. Actually, Johnny shrugs while Ellis plays Sonic the Hedgehog on her vintage Sega GameGear. Yeah, she’s that hardcore.
Sarah Kennedy: You guys called this interview for no reason?
Adam Dick: There’s a reason! A grand reason! I just got stoned and forgot...
Adam looks at GBJ, who shakes his head. Then to Ji-Himmy Jihad, who’s more or less glaring at all the ducks that lay about off screen. So he then looks at Bitty, who is admiring the shine of his platinum chain against the reflection in his platinum watch.
Adam Dick: FUCK! I can’t remember what we were going to talk about.
Without raising her head from her GameGear, pressing the buttons with emotion and dedication, Ellis blurts out.
Ellis Nash: Contenders.
Adam Dick: Ah-hah! Contenders! Thanks love.
She doesn’t respond.
Adam Dick: That’s right, me and my good friend Garbage Bag were discussing contenders and how they would come about. I mean, there are a few that are worthy. Garbage Bag himself has his shot in line, but what about the other people? Sure there’s Pierce Lavelle, but he’s a ‘roid monkey and won’t be back for another, like, forever. And then there’s Jack Murphy, but we all know he sucks compared to Lavelle so he gets his shot right after! That left me thinking, who do I defend to? I mean, I’ve already broke Darcy Crisis’ hymen and he was the only member of the roster EVEN CLOSE to mid-card material! If you think about it Sarah, it’s really baffling. I mean, there is no one for me to defend this Crown against!
Sarah Kennedy: Mike Wade.
Adam ignores.
Adam Dick: Regardless of these “big-name” faggots, losers like Vince Jones and Duke Williams and Teresa Tomas, they still have done shit all to even be considered Frontier contenders! Hell, I’d be surprised if RED ROCK defends his belts against one of those assholes. You’ve got to wonder, is AWC just plagued with mediocrity? Anton Assault is the new Void. Kip Brown is Alex Strider, only gayer. Captain Suleimon is a bitchier Steven Xandrous. AND NOT ANY OF THESE MOTHER FUCKERS IS TURNING HEADS! FUCK YOU, ANTON ASSAULT. FUCK YOU, ACTOR BOY. AND FUCK YOU, SULLY. Fuck everyone that thinks they can handle King Dick, because there isn’t anyone on this fucking planet that can step to me!
Sarah Kennedy: Um, Mike Wade?
Adam Dick: And if you fuckers think you can?! Well, you’ve got your chance. That’s right. It don’t matter if you’re a douche-bag with a vagina (Darcy Crisis) or a douche-bag with a vagina (Aimzzzz) or another douche-bag that ends your name with a Z (Chainzzzzzz) or even a gayer douche-bag that ends your name with a Z (ZAAAZZZZZZ), because all of you mundane assholes are hereby granted your shot at Transtatlantic Glory! Yes, that is right, EVERYONE IS CAPABLE OF EARNING THEIR SHOT!
Sarah Kennedy: Including Mike Wade?
Adam Dick: You may be saying ‘what in the world are you talking about?’ and I say to that, ‘SHUT THE FUCK UP AND LISTEN!’ If you’re saying ‘what gives you the right to hand out shots?’ then I say to that, ‘YOU’RE A FUCKING HOMO WHERE AS I’M A FUCKING KING HENCE I AM CAPABLE OF DOING WHATEVER THE FUCK I WANT!’ Ever hear of King’s Law? Well here you go.
Adam takes a deep breath.
Adam Dick: HENCEFORTH, as DECREED by King Dick, those that wish to face their Lord in a contested bout with the Transatlantic Crown on the line, MUST FIRST complete a simple task.
Sarah Kennedy: What’s that?
Adam Dick: Beat Garbage Bag Johnny in a one-on-one contest.
Sarah Kennedy: That’s it?
Adam Dick: That’s it, but it shall be no small task! Remember, the mother fucker IS undefeated. And he IS the Zero 2 Hero Hero or whatever. Whoever is able to put the Number One Contender down deserves a shot at my title by right.
Sarah Kennedy: Isn’t this sort of a cop-out, though? Just a way for you to keep tabs on your contenders until you actually meet Garbage Bag Johnny at your Coast To Coast arrangement?
Adam Dick: Well, duh. It’s not like anyone here deserves a shot anyways.
Sarah Kennedy: But don’t you want to be a fighting champion? Someone who answers all of his doubters’ challenges? I mean, if you actually go this route, you’ll probably just cheat so GBJ stays undefeated, giving you an easy ride all the way until Coast To Coast. Am I right?
Adam Dick: ERrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr...
He’s breathing so hard, his sweat is pulsating.
Adam Dick: I er um uhn UWF sucks um.......
Then, GBJ makes the save!
GBJ: Well, Sarah, you bring up a rather startling accusation, but last time I checked, here in America you’re innocent until proven guilty.
Sarah Kennedy: We’re not in America. We’re in Sweden.
GBJ: That sounds like terrorist rhetoric to me. You’re trying to confuse America with your mind games and your power by fear. I’ll tell you what, though O-Sarah Bin Laden… if there’s one thing that a hero hates, it’s a terrorist… no offense Ji-Himmy Jihad.
Ji-himmy Jihad: None taken (followed by ululations).
GBJ: And if I remember correctly, two weeks ago, I earned the right to be a hero… a hero like Todd Beemer. Let’s roll!
Garbage Bag Johnny turns to Adam Dick.
Adam Dick: Couldn’t have put it better myself. Ellis, you got anything to add?
Without looking up from her GameGear, she answers.
Ellis Nash: Aimz zuckz.
Adam Dick: Anything else?
She finally pauses and looks up to the camera lens.
Ellis Nash: Teresa Tomas sucks.
The King, Queen, and Royal Court begin to take off and do not notice the imposing figure heading towards them.
Sarah Kennedy: Well, that will do it for the Royal Cour---
Sasha Volkyeva: Hold it right there, Adam!
Adam does one of those movements where it looks like he’s inhaled a gum-ball, Mikey O’Reilly’s biography, or something equally hard to swallow.
Sasha Volkyeva: Pearl wants to see you in his office. Now.
Everyone turns to follow Sasha, but Sasha glares back with cold, Soviet eyes at everyone except Adam.
Sasha Volkyeva: Alone!
HLA
FEATURING: TERESA TOMAS, ELLIS NASH
AUTHOR: LIA
As the Royal Court quickly dissipates, Ellis Nash walks, head down to her GameGear still, around a corner.
Teresa Tomas just happens to be coming the other way.
As Ellis Nash mashes buttons, oblivious, Teresa wastes very little time implementing her totally evil*** masterplan. Nash, incognizant towards the proximity of Teresa, turns past a door only to find herself suddenly pressed against it.
Not again.
The GameGear clatters to the floor.
Teresa Tomas: Ellis, darling! I just love what you did with your hair!
To demonstrate her assertion, Teresa fingers a few strands of Ellis' hair between her thumb and index, smiling almost too-seductively. Ellis' face wrinkles with confusion, disgust, and terror all blended into one wide-eyed, eyebrow-raised stare.
Ellis Nash: But... I... I didn't - get away from me!
Teresa observes Ellis for a moment more, locking eyes. Ellis stares back at her. Translation: this is soooo a potential HLA moment.
Unfortunately, Teresa shatters that fantasy. AWC's resident Dolly Parton suddenly breaks out into a grin and obliges Ellis' request, allowing the brown strands to fall from her grasp. Ellis breathes in a sigh of relief as Teresa, seemingly, begins to turn away.
But things are never that easy, and Teresa illustrates this by throwing her head over her shoulder and pucking her lips, before unpuckering them with a sickeningly-loud smack.
Teresa Tomas: See you in the showers.
And, with that, Teresa grins once again and is off, bounding down the hallway, plan in perfect motion. Meanwhile, Ellis watches after her, face crumpling with just plain horror this time. A duck quacks at her. Ellis glares at it, picks up her fallen GameGear, and stomps off.
Plans Plans Plans
FEATURING: ADAM DICK, DAVID "PEARL" HARBER, SASHA VOLKYEVA, MIKE WADE
AUTHORS: JOE SCHMIDT, MIKE AND PIERRE HYDE
Adam Dick knew that this whole ordeal would be coming sooner rather than later. Later rather than sooner, actually; the man thought that Sasha Volkyeva’s and David Harber’s frustrations would have peaked by the time Adam won the Crown back.
Instead, it took three months.
Adam Dick: So Sasha’s just your messenger now? I don’t think she---
Pearl: Shut up.
The Male Counterpart of our Entertainment Managers rubs his temples through shut eyes, elbows rest behind his extravagant desk. Adam thought this wasn’t fair, Pearl sitting in that nice leather chair of his forcing the King to sit in some shitty fold-out.
Sasha stands behind Pearl with her arms folded. Adam should have been fearing whatever words would come from her mouth, what with the nature of their relationship over the past few months, but for some reason he wasn’t fazed.
Pearl: Adam. Your behavior...
Again, Pearl stops again to rub his head.
Adam Dick: My behavior?
Pearl: Ever since your contract began here ten months ago, you’ve been a nuisance. Not only a nuisance, but a cancer. Your antics have resulted in the injuries of many superstars---
Adam Dick: Hey, it is soooo not my fault the cage fell at Testimony.
Pearl: The riot?
Adam Dick: .....well, maybe. That was more The British Bomber’s stupid family, though!
Pearl: I can’t believe what I’m hearing. You are actually defending yourself?
Adam Dick: Of course I’m defending myself! You can’t blame me for all of the stupid shit that’s happened to your lame promotion over the months! It’s not my fault you’re sucking so bad that your superiors decided to help you out by bringing in an even less competent entity, who knows jack shit about wrestling mind you.
Sasha Volkyeva: Excuse me?
Adam Dick: No offense, Sasha, but you have no fucking idea what you’re doing.
Adam puts his feet on the desk.
Adam Dick: Are those pretzels? Mind if I have one?
He reaches and grabs a mouthful from the complimentary dish on Pearl’s desk.
Sasha Volkyeva: Mr. Dick, now is not the wisest time to be acting foolish, considering the past occasions where you have attempted to make a fool out of me.
Adam Dick: Attempted?
Sasha Volkyeva: Of course, your little stunt after Bloodlust was cute; playing the pathetic and broken contender with no self-confidence. You set the perfect trap for Jack Murphy by luring both Jessica O’Grady’s sympathies and my own to your cause. Yes, Adam, I know you used us to get that crown back. That is… fine.
Adam does the ole’ nail-shining routine.
Sasha Volkyeva: But if you think I will stand idly by and watch you ruin events on my time like you did at the Zero 2 Hero fan festival... well, you’d better think twice!
Adam Dick: Whoa. Easy with the threats, Sasha.
Pearl: She’s right, Adam. You may be the Transatlantic champion, but that doesn’t give you free reign to do whatever the hell you want---
Adam Dick: Actually, that’s exactly what it does. Remember? There’s that whole deal Sasha and I made way back when? AS LONG AS I’M YOUR KING; WHATEVER I SAY, GOES.
Sasha is getting angry and inching closer to Adam. For a moment, Pearl almost feels the need to restrain her before any rash actions are made.
Sasha Volkyeva: Let me remind you that you are under employment of the Atlantic Wrestling Club, an establishment that is currently being operated by David Harber and myself. As your superiors, you are obliged---
Adam Dick: I’m not obligated to do anything! I beat Jack Murphy and now he’s a hermit. And I got one up on you, Pearl, and beat Darcy Crisis before you could build him up as a viable contender. Who are you going to support now? Red Rock? That stupid Smiley mother fucker who didn’t even show up? It doesn’t matter who you send. None of them will be able to contend.
Pearl: So is that why you’re taking the coward’s way out? Forcing Garbage Bag Johnny to fight your battles until you think you’re capable of winning?
Adam Dick: Sorry, Pearl. You’re not getting another word out of me. I’m untouchable, I’m your champion, and I’m your King. Get used to it, because shit isn’t about to change now.
He stands from his seat.
Adam Dick: We’re finished.
He tells this to his bosses, who don’t exactly like the lack of respect that resonates.
Sasha Volkyeva: Finished. But I warn you, Adam, that we are not the most generous adversaries you will have had. We carry power; something you crave but will never fully achieve. And as long as we make the rules, you will have to play by them.
Adam Dick: No offense Sasha...
He turns to leave out the door behind where he once sat.
Adam Dick: But you guys aren’t making the rules anymore. Especially not with this little war you’ve got going between yourselves. We notice things, you know. This little show of solidarity doesn’t impress me. No, you aren’t making the rules. I am.
And with that, he’s gone. It doesn’t take Mother Russia more than a second to slam her desk on the table amidst her frustrations with the King.
Sasha Volkyeva: That pompous, idiotic, gregarious son of a bitch! Why can’t we just fire him?
Pearl sighs.
Pearl: Because. He IS our Transatlantic champion.
Sasha Volkyeva: I’m still antsy from his presence. That man is so thick-headed I almost felt the need to slap some sense into him right then and there!
Pearl: (expressionlessly) Right.
Sasha Volkyeva: I’ll be back. Just getting some coffee to relax my nerves.
She stands.
Sasha Volkyeva: (stiffly) Would you like anything from catering?
Pearl: (bitterly) My job, forever, perhaps? (pause) No, thank you, Sasha, but I’m fine.
With that, Sasha takes the same cue that Adam did and takes to the outer corridors. Pearl, however, lets his head sink into the darkness, where a shadow that had been looming finally makes a break into movement.
Someone was hiding in that room, listening to what just transpired.
Mike Wade: We’re alone?
Pearl: Yes.
Mike Wade: I told you. I fucking told you this was useless.
Pearl: But I can’t just let him do whatever---
Mike Wade: You don’t need to let him. He’ll do it anyways.
Another sigh emanates from Pearl.
Mike Wade: Now you see what I was telling you? Do you see that you need me?
Pearl: For what? So you can organize Angelo Deville’s fake return to wrestling as well?
Mike Wade: Those games are over, Pearl. And you know I only played along with the Stanislav gig to humiliate him. It obviously worked.
Pearl: ....what are you going to do?
Mike Wade: What do you mean what am I going to do? I’m going to do what I fucking do best! I’m going to get rid of your little problem.
Pearl: But Sasha...
He has a moment of restraint, one that Mike Wade finds weakness in.
Pearl: She considers you like she considers him. If she ever learns that I allowed you to help me---
Mike Wade: You need to get your priorities straight, Mr. Harber. What’s more important, your company? Your JOB? Or your girlfriend’s ill-gotten opinion of me?
Again, Pearl sighs. Stressful times, eh?
Pearl: She’s not my girlfriend---
Mike Wade: About bloody time, Pearl, what with you being “at war” or whatever! Anyway… let me know. I know you’ll make the right choice.
Issued
FEATURING: MIKEY O'REILLY, LUIS FERRARA, ANTON ASSAULT, SASHA VOLKYEVA
AUTHORS: OBINNA O. AND JEREMY J.
Mikey O’Reilly is walking towards Anton Assault’s locker room. The thought of not having the Relentless title is eating him alive inside. He’s been going through that match in his mind over and over again, trying to figure out what he did wrong, much like reliving the Sadist match he had against Chainz two months ago. He never thought he’s going to start his AWC career with two wins and three losses.
It drives Mikey insane that he can’t figure out how he didn’t win both matches. Perhaps his desire to win and determination to destroy everyone in his path is clouding his better judgment. He’s been in those situations before where his own rage defeats his common clarity. He’s a ticking time bomb ready to go off when he’s angered, and all common sense goes out the window. It’s hard to keep a clear mind when you feel nothing but rage.
He stops in front of Anton Assault’s locker room, trying to calm himself before knocking. If he goes in as his ill tempered self, things are bound to get messy. Anton Assault won’t make it to his match against Red Rock and Mikey O’Reilly would be suspended for brutally assaulting “Mr. CKD.”
Taking a deep breath, he knocks on the door. He slowly exhales, waiting for Anton Assault to answer the door. When the door opens, Assault isn’t the one to answer. Instead, it’s Anton’s manager, Luis Ferrara. He looks at Mikey with a scowl on his face.
Luis Ferrara: Whatchoo want, O’Smiley?
Mikey O’Reilly: I’m here to talk to Anton Assault. Is he around?
Luis Ferrara: Nah, man. He’s guardin’ that Russian bitch, Sasha Volkswagen, y'understand? You can find ’im there. What’s your bid’ness with him anyway?
Mikey O’Reilly: That’s none of your concern. I just want to talk to him is all. Thanks for your information.
With that, he heads towards “Sasha Volkswagen’s” office, and sure enough, Anton Assault is standing in front of her door. He’s dressed for competition later on in the evening and his arms are folded across his chest. Mikey O’Reilly walks over to him calmly, sporting a faux pas smile on his face.
Mikey O’Reilly: Hello, Anton.
Anton looks at him stonily, not speaking.
Mikey O'Reilly: Hel-lo? Anton Assault: State your business.
Mikey O’Reilly: My business is with you, Anton. I want to talk to you about something.
Anton Assault stands his ground, his eyes locked on Mikey O’Reilly. He looks like a statue to Mikey O’Reilly and he’s wondering if he heard him.
Mikey O’Reilly: Did ya hear me? I said---
Anton Assault: I heard you.
Anton Assault isn’t much of a statue after all.
Mikey O’Reilly: I think it’s a fluke that you beat me last week in that Elimination Table match. As far as I’m concerned, I was the better man. It should be me facin’ Red Rock for the Relentless title, not you!
Anton Assault remains in his statue pose, staring at Mikey O’Reilly. The slightest hint of amusement touches Anton's lips.
Anton Assault: State your business or I will remove you.
Mikey scrubs his hand through his hair.
Mikey O’Reilly: If by some chance you win the Relentless title off of Red Rock, I want a title shot at the next pay-per-view. Since you stole my title shot away from me, I’m gonna steal the title from you at the pay-per-view, that way we’re both even. Your mistress can set up the match.
Anton Assault: Prove your worth.
Mikey snarls. He opens his mouth, but Anton cuts him off.
Anton Assault: Until then, leave.
Mikey O’Reilly forces a mocking smile at Anton Assault. He slowly backs away from him, keeping his eyes locked on The Lion, then turns his back on him and leaves. He looks over his shoulder at Anton again, smiling.
Mikey O’Reilly: See you in June, Anton.
Anton's cold, robotic stare follows Mikey until he disappears down the hallway. A soft throat-clearing brings Anton to realize that Ms. Volkyeva is standing behind him in the doorway. She has a duck cradled in her hands and she hurriedly tosses it off, wiping off her forearms before looking up at the Nigerian.
Sasha Volkyeva: What will I be setting up, Mr. Assault?
Anton says nothing, looking forward determinedly. She's obviously heard enough of the conversation. She comes around him, frowning a bit.
Sasha Volkyeva: Are you setting up matches without seeking my prior consent, Mr. Assault? I believed I was in charge here, but perhaps Mr. O'Reilly is booking things now?
Anton is too smart to argue with the shorter woman, but his lips curl angrily. Sasha touches her lips in a pensive manner before shaking her head.
Sasha Volkyeva: You listen to me, Mr. Assault. I — own — you. Own you. Understand? Without me, you will be out of a job, and so will that little Latin idiot you carry around with you. Without me, you will be deported to whatever jungle hellhole you crawled out of. Do you understand me?
Anton gives her the slightest flicker of eyebrow movement, but it seems to satisfy “Mother Russia”.
Sasha Volkyeva: Don't you ever let someone linger near this doorway so long again. Do you understand?
Again, Anton's facial expression barely changes, but she reads it for assent. Nodding her head, she slips back into her office. Anton cracks his knuckles as the door slams. He takes a deep breath, calming himself. He has a job to do.
Liam Martin vs Captain Suleimon
STIPULATION: SINGLES
REFEREE: JOSEPH REID
AUTHOR: ???
Dave Kern: We're just about ready for our next match-up between Captain Suleimon and Liam Martin. East meets West in this battle of intolerance.
Jeff Marx: Alright, sounds like my kind of battle. Hard to pick a winner, though.
Steven Smith: Until we have an open dialogue between cultures, nobody will win.
Jeff Marx: Try telling that to the hundreds of thousands blood-thirsty fans tuning in tonight.
Mozart's "The Turkish March" punctuates the announce team's dialogue, filling the Scandinavium and causing James Brunt snaps to attention in the ring.
James Brunt: The following is a singles match.
General Rahman burst through the curtain, his eyes ablaze as he proudly thumps his chest. He makes to kick a duck out of his path, but the mallard telegraphs the boot, fluttering out of harms way. A second later, Captain Suleimon appears a few paces behind him, a towel draped around his neck, a serious look set on his face.
James Brunt: Introducing first, accompanied to the ring by General Rahman... from Istanbul, Turkey, weighing in at 198 pounds... he is the Pride of the Ottoman Empire... CAAAAPTAAAIN SUUUULEEEIMOOOON!!!!
Steven Smith: But I did just tell them. It's my duty to be a vocal minority, after all.
Jeff Marx: Nice try, fag. If there's anything the media has taught me, it's that minorities have no voice.
Dave Kern: Will you two knock it off and pay attention to the match?
Hallelujahhhhhhhhhhh...
Hallelujahhhhhhhhhh...
Smoke billows out from top of the entrance ramp, where we see the two Martin brothers kneeling solemnly, hands folded, looking to the sky while a Furious Fists highlight reel plays on the big screen above them.
Jame Brunt: And his opponent, accompanied to the ring by his brother Tim Martin... from Boston, Massachusetts, weighing in at 301 pounds... he is one half of the Furious Fists of God... LIAM MAAAARTIIIIIN!!!!
Jeff Marx: What are you talking about? Both guys aren't even in the ring yet.
Dave Kern: You could still maintain an air of professionalism. Maybe, I don't know, say something about how they look tonight.
Having finished their prayer, Liam and Tim walk down the aisle toward the ring, pausing every couple of feet to proselytize loudly to the jeering fans at ringside.
Steven Smith: Oh, oh, I gotcha. Well, Liam Martin is looking drop-dead gorgeous!
Jeff Marx: You know he's a homophobe, right?
Steven Smith: Talk about forbidden fruit... though I wouldn't mind taking a bite out of that apple.
Jeff Marx: (groans)
Exchanging a few inaudible words with each other, the Martin brothers touch fists outside the ring before Liam ascends to the ring apron and steps between the ropes. His height advantage over Suleimon is immediately apparent, even with the distance of the ring between them. He smirks confidently across the ring at his opponent, mouthing something about the "White Lord", while Suleimon glares back, unintimidated.
Dave Kern: We're just about underway here...
DING! DING! DING!
Dave Kern: ...and there's the bell!
Captain Suleimon wastes no time in kicking things off, racing across the ring in the direction of his larger opponent. Liam smiles, winding up a haymaker punch to blast the oncoming Turk, but Suleimon drops down at the last second with a diving dropkick to Martin's knee. Liam falls to the mat sideways, immediately trying to regain his feet, but by the time he wheel around to face Suleimon again, the man is already perched on the turnbuckle. A second later, he's leaping off, taking Martin headfirst to the mat with a flying hurricanrana.
Steven Smith: Oh Captain, my Captain!!!
Dave Kern: An impressive move from Suleimon to kick things off!
Looking to maintain his momentum, the Suleimon comes off the ropes to slam the groggy Martin with front dropkick the chest. Seeing his opponent slump backward to the canvas, the Captain wastes no time in jumping off the second rope, flipping backward in midair to bring his full body weight down across Martin's chest.
Dave Kern: Lionsault! Suleimon's going for the pin!
ONE!
TWO!
No!
Steven Smith: Too early.
Jeff Marx: Isn't that just a stock comment you can say about any near-fall?
Steven Smith: Well this one was ESPECIALLY too early.
Martin shrugs Suleimon off easily, sitting up, only to get a stiff kick to his chest for his effort. A pained scowl appears on his face, all the evidence needed to show that there was some sting behind that one. Pulling Liam up by the arm, Suleimon whips him into the ropes, following him in with another front dropkick... but lands hard on his back, missing Martin entirely, who has stopped his momentum by hooking his arms around the top rope.
Dave Kern: Martin telegraphed that one!
Suleimon gets to his feet, looking disoriented, and a hard running lariat from Martin doesn't help him any. He does a 180 degree flip in mid-air from the impact, landing stomach first on the mat.
Jeff Marx: Ew... I hope they're able to reattach Suleimon's head to his body.
Steven Smith: Me too. And no icky scars either. Even I have my standards.
Shaking out his arm, Liam takes a few seconds to regain his bearings, flashing a smile at Tim, who is applauding him loudly at ringside. Returning to his opponent, he jerks Suleimon off the mat by his hair, shoving his head between his legs. Lifting him up, he whirls away from the ropes and slams him down to the mat with an impactful powerbomb.
Dave Kern: What a sit-out powerbomb from Liam Martin!
Jeff Marx: Get it right, Kern. That's the Biblical Bomb. Come on, I'm only the color commentator. I shouldn't have to do play-by-play.
Martin pushes Suleimon leg's backward, not bothering to go for the pin. Now that he's gained control of the match, Liam is visibly cocky, dragging the Captain to his feet again. The Turk attempts to punch his way out of his predicament, landing a pair of right hands to Martin's gut, but Liam only responds to this with a smile. Bending down, he grabs Suleimon around the waist, lifting him and falling backward to drop the man throat-first across the top rope.
Dave Kern: (snidely) And what's the move called, Jeff?
Jeff Marx: The Hail Mary. Thank the White Lord that someone did their research tonight.
Steven Smith: Yes, we should all be thankful for the white load.
Suleimon bounces back, holding his throat in pain as he rolls toward the center of the ring. The referee admonishes Martin for his bending of the rules. Liam raises his hands, protesting his innocence, before dropping to a knee and driving his fist into Suleimon's throat.
Jeff Marx: You've got to appreciate a man with a good throat-based offense.
Steven Smith: I'll say!
Jeff Marx: Wha...? No, damn it, I didn't mean it like that!!!
General Rahman is on the ring apron, screaming admonishments at both Martin and referee Joseph Reid, but he drops back to the floor as Liam takes a step toward him. Turning back, Martin finds Suleimon on his feet again, but not quite recovered. Hitting him with a running big boot, he sends the Captain staggering down into the ropes, where his arms become entangled.
Dave Kern: Captain Suleimon is all tied up, with nowhere to go.
Steven Smith: Suddenly I've become a lot more interested in this match.
Martin grins devilishly at his opponent's predicament, walking confidently up to him and slapping him in the face. Suleimon is incensed as Liam paintbrushes him in a mocking fashion. Suddenly the camera cuts away from the ring, to focus on a lone figure in an expensive looking blue suit standing on the top of the entrance ramp. He is intent on watching the action in the ring, another manila envelope in hand, a wry smile turning up the corner of his mouth.
Dave Kern: That's the man we saw backstage earlier, handing an envelope to Kip Brown!
Steven Smith: Well, what's he doing out here?
Dave Kern: You took the words right out of my mouth, Steven.
Jeff Marx: It looks like he's enjoying what he's seeing. So I'm guessing he's obviously a man of good taste.
Cutting back to the ring, we see Martin continue to slap Suleimon. Taking a step back after being warned by the referee, Liam immediately wheels back around and launches another big boot at the Captain's face... only to find himself missing as Suleimon has managed to extract himself. Crouched on the top rope, the fans begin to cheer out of pure schadenfraude as Suleimon yanks the top rope up and down, giving Martin a ride on the old testicular trampoline. Springing off the second turnbuckle, the Sultan of Smackdown sends Liam flying to the outside with a springboard dropkick that catches him in the face.
Dave Kern: And Suleimon has just turned the tables on Martin.
Jeff Marx: Never fear. Brother Tim to the rescue.
Tim Martin runs around the outside of the ring, a concerned look on his face as he helps his brother to his feet. The concern turns to a look of shock, however, as he turns to see Suleimon soaring through the air. A second later, both of the Furious Fists are taken out by the Captain's tope suicida.
Dave Kern: Yeah, that was some rescue. What a move from Suleimon!
Standing up from the heap of bodies on the floor, Suleimon rolls Martin into the ring before following him in. He rains down a pair of forearms on the back of Liam's head in an attempt to soften him up, then pins the man's arms behind his back, looking for a tiger suplex. Martin's too big however, and manages to counter the move on the Captain's second attempt. He moves behind Suleimon and sends him running into the ropes, ducking as the Turk leaps over his head on the rebound and continues running to the opposite side of the ring. This time, as Suleimon comes back, Martin pulls ref Joseph Reid into his path, who saves him from the impact of a flying cross chop.
Steven Smith: Oh my god! The ref's down! Someone give him mouth to mouth! I nominate... myself.
Jeff Marx: Sit down!
Jumping up, Martin looks to take immediate advantage of his diversion, grabbing the surprised Suleimon and wheeling him up into powerbomb position. His own momentum is used against him, however, as Suleimon manages to free himself from Liam's grip and, kicking off his chest, manages to bring him to the mat with a vicious swinging DDT.
Dave Kern: Martin wasn't able to hold onto Suleimon that time.
Steven Smith: I love a man that plays hard to get.
Motioning that it's the end by running his thumb across his throat, Suleimon pulls Martin to his feet and whips him into the corner. Running to the same corner, the Captain pulls Liam out, standing him about a foot away as he climbs the ropes. Seated on top of the turnbuckle, Suleimon now grabs Martin in what appears to be a dragon sleeper.
Dave Kern: Suleimon's going for the Whirling Dervish. This could be it!
Before he has the chance to launch himself out of the corner, however, Suleimon is cracked across the back with a steel chair, courtesy of Tim Martin, standing on the ring apron. Releasing his hold on Martin, he soon finds himself lifted on Liam's shoulders and carried out toward the center of the ring.
Jeff Marx: Whoa! I bet Suleimon's family heard the crack of that chair shot all the way in Turkey!
Dave Kern: And the referee is still down from the earlier collision. The Furious Fists are going to get away with this one.
Steadying Suleimon on his shoulders, Martin then lifts him up and over his head, dropping him face first down on his knee, causing the Captain's head to bounce back with vicious impact. Liam shakes awake referee Joseph Reid, telling him to count the pinfall, as he hooks Suleimon's leg.
Jeff Marx: At The Gates!!!
Dave Kern: This could be it!
ONE!
TWO!
THREE!
Reid signals groggily for the bell as Martin raises his arm in victory. He's already rolled to the outside, joining his brother in an embrace, when his name is announced.
James Brunt: The winner... LIAM MAAAARTIIIIIN!!!!
Dave Kern: Liam Martin has just stolen a win from Captain Suleimon here tonight.
Steven Smith: Not to mention that he's stolen my heart.
Jeff Marx: Give it up, man. Give it up.
General Rahman is attending to Suleimon in the ring, shouting at the Martin brothers at ringside that revenge will be had. Liam waves him off with a look of smug satisfaction, before turning to walk back up the entrance ramp.
Dave Kern: Are we going to see a confrontation here? That man hasn't moved a step since he first came out to watch the match.
Jeff Marx: I couldn't think of a bigger mistake than starting something with the Furious Fists.
As they reach the top of the ramp, Liam and Tim eye the man warily, looking ready for trouble. Even when the man begins to applaud them, they don't let their guard down, instead inaudibly questioning him about what he wants. Handing Tim the manila envelope he was holding, he mouths some words to them that the microphones don't pick up, before nodding respectfully at each man and turning to the back. A perplexed look is exchanged between the brothers before they too head into the back. Whatever the man has said, it has brought their celebration to a halt.
Jeff Marx: Does somebody want to let me know what that was all about? What the hell is in those envelopes?
Dave Kern: I think we're all as lost as you, Jeff. What I want to know is what could Kip Brown possibly have in common with The Furious Fists Of God?
Steven Smith: Besides being extremely good-looking?
Dave Kern: Somehow I doubt that's it...
Jeff Marx: Can we cut? I think I just overdosed on Steven's gay jokes and need a shot of adrenaline to the heart.
Dave Kern: I'll alert the doctor...
Spoof Me? No, SPOOF YOU!
FEATURING: AIMZ, TERESA TOMAS
AUTHOR: KATIE
'I am the one that defends all things profane...'
"Old" by Machine Head.
Amy Campbell.
Dave Kern: Now now, what does Aimz want with this Scandinavium crowd?
Jeff Marx: Hot sex?
Steven Smith: No, dude, she’s female.
She's strutting down, flying between the ropes and grabbing a mic, demanding attention over a deafening silence. The redhead smiles when a "YOU SCREWED AIMZ!" style chant breaks out amongst the front row.
Get the fuck into it!
Dave Kern: She’s done her best to cover up the marks of The Illustrious Face-Eater’s steel chair attack on last week’s show, but they’re still visible.
Aimz: Now... see, now you've just gone and done it. Everyone knows what I mean - Ellis Nash and Adam Dick. They want the attention, they're begging for the targets on their backs... now they've got 'em. Once you piss everyone off, guys, there's nobody to have your back. No one's gonna come out and help you win matches when everyone who matters hates your dumb asses. You stand strong when one has the other, but I've noticed something pretty integral to your unit's operation...
Seemingly out of nowhere, a second voice chimes in.
Voice: Keep preachin', baby! Put their hides on display.
Dave Kern: Who was that?
Amy looked to the stage and smiles when she sees Teresa Tomas strutting down the ramp with a mic in hand. The crowd may be confused, but they give one another a knowing nod and Teresa circles the ring as Aimz continues.
Aimz: ...And anatomically, this makes a lot of sense to say, too. I noticed that when Ellis doesn't have Dick up her ass, well... she's nothing but a lonely little pussy. People like her can't imagine in their worst nightmares a day where they'd face me alone in a dark alley. That nightmare comes true really soon, and I guess it sucks for Nash - I mean, if the match was in an alley, at least she'd have a direction to run away to. Inside walls of steel, there isn't a place else in the world to be until that bell rings. Your sad attempts at personal insults won't fly there. You can myspacesluteyelineroohyou'vegottattoos me until the sun sets, but honestly... what have you got? Your boyfriend calls mine a girl, I call you a worthless waste of roster room with a fruit fixation and then you both call me a slut or... come the fuck on... make fun of my tattoos? Seriously, do you have anything? YOU KNOW YOU LOST LAST WEEK. You know you're getting cheap heat for fucking your way out of it. You saw a pinfall coming, just like every ass in these seats and every doped-up jackslap backstage. Everyone - EVERYONE - knows I'm better, it doesn't matter how long you've been around this place. You can bring my win/loss up from ANY federation I've graced, and you'll still see more matches than you've ever dreamed of competing in. Hard work, not politics and dumbass internet trash-talk, gets me where I've been and where I'm going.
Jeff Marx: Does she know how pathetic she sounds?
She looks at Teresa, who's cracking up over the barbs that went for Ellis Nash's throat. Once Tomas finishes laughing, Amy gestures to her that it's her time to shine. All over again, there's that knowing nod between them. Teresa's not quite as riled up as Aimz, but she's got plenty to say.
Teresa Tomas: We both hate other women, but Aimz and I have common ground... we hate little shit-stirring, smack-talking backstage politicians even more! Instead of cleanly beating people, y'all see people like Nash and Dick spread little rumors 'n make their little comments. A grown-ass woman tried spreading the rumor that I was gay just 'cause she couldn't stop thinkin' about an accidental tit-touch? What's that say about the maturity in that locker room when all Nash can do is stereotype and run her mouth about our personal shit just 'cause she's too damn boring to have anything unique about her plain ol' ass? All y'all've got for backing is a drug dealer, a dead man and an overexcited muslim, while we have the support of anyone with a brain in their head.
Let's turn this into a Duke Williams PCW promo real quick...
THE CROWD POPS!
Teresa Tomas: I got less to say than Aimz did, 'cause I know our goal. We made a pact to shut your borin' ass up and if King Dick wants to put his paws in on it, bring it. This here redhead's mad enough to break both of y'alls necks, and y'all already know what I'm all about. Nothin' more to say, really.
THE CROWD POPS!
Aimz raises her mic again.
AND THE CROWD POPS!
Aimz: And just for reference? Dan Brown and his little Da Vinci Code couldn't write you worse lines, Nash. Pippi? Carrot Top? You don't deserve a forum to speak. Maybe it's part of your wannabe hipster 'We're too cool and '1337' for this' act, but I question if you're actually TRYING to look lame, or if you just fucking blow. Maybe it's an excuse - if you act like you're bad and you know it, you don't have to admit that you really are?
She sighs and gestures toward the back again. The crowd... POPS~!
Aimz: Whatever, I'll just never understand people like you. Seriously, go plant your ass in a coffee shop with a joint and spare everyone having to watch you haphazardly referencing fashion and the internet just to try bugging me. Personal digs aren't going to work when I already know I've got the real ace - talent that surpasses yours. I proved it in my showing last week, and every week before this. Yeah, this is a pretty standard 'wrasslin'' promo, but it's got a rad punchline - Ellis Nash? You know you're done. This time next week, you'll be curled into a little ball and trying to bunch your panties up tight enough for Adam to use your asshole for a weed lung long enough to put you out of your misery. Goodnight, and a VERY merry Fuck You!
OHMYGODTHECROWDISPOPPINGSOHARDTHEIRPANTSARECOMINGOFF!
At that, the two are done for the night. Music plays again, and people's attention goes elsewhere, as...
...the crowd pops.
The Lioness
FEATURING: AMBER, ANTON ASSAULT
AUTHOR: OBINNA O.
There were no other rooms on the hall except for Sasha Volkyeva's office. It was stark and empty, devoid of all life save one man, an ebon statue that stood in front of the Entertainment Co-Manager's door. Anton Assault's eyes were directed straight ahead, except for fleeting glances down each side. He wasn't stupid; people could come from any direction. People wanting to blindside him. People wanting to get past.
A woman came to his vision around the right hall, a woman with sleek black hair that came down to her shoulders, dressed in a suit-and-miniskirt in a professional gray. Anton glanced down that way. He turned back to look ahead of him, but he quickly made a double-take. He knew her. His eyebrows narrowed.
Anton Assault: What are you doing?
The woman smiled at him, glancing at the door and locking her hands together behind her back. The smile was nervous; she obviously hadn't expected him to be here.
Woman: Surprised to see me, Anton?
Anton nodded. His arms twitched as if he was going to unfold them, perhaps reach out to her, but then he thought better. She cozied up to him, looking directly into his eyes.
Anton Assault: Amber, what are you doing?
Amber: Nothing.
Anton's look showed that he hadn't fallen for the weak lie. She glanced at the door; apprehension covered her face.
Amber: No one told me that you were a guard. I thought you were a wrestler.
Anton Assault: I am.
Amber frowned a bit.
Amber: I want to see Ms. Volkyeva.
Anton studied her for a bit.
Anton Assault: You don't have appointment.
Amber stamped her foot, but Anton wasn't swayed.
Amber: Anton, move! I need to see Ms. Volkyeva.
Anton Assault: You don't have appointment.
Amber stared at Anton incredulously.
Amber: What is wrong with you, Anton? After all that, all we've been through, you…
Amber's eyes hardened as she saw that none of this was moving Anton. As much as she admired it usually, she was hating Anton's sense of duty.
Amber: Fine, then.
Amber turned around, flashing a sly smile as she turned her back on him. Anton raised an eyebrow.
Amber: I guess you won't be getting any tonight, then, will you?
Anton looked at her blankly; when he spoke, there was a clear flavor of exasperation:
Anton Assault: Go home, Amber.
Amber gave a start, turning around fully.
Amber: But---
Anton Assault: Go home.
Amber's mouth worked wordlessly, but she eventually saw the futility of it and stalked off. Anton looked after her ruefully, but she could be handled later. Right now, he was concerned about keeping his job.
Chainz Likez Duckz
FEATURING: CHAINZ, DAVE HURST
AUTHORS: MIKE S. AND DAVE HURST
We cut to the backstage area; more specifically a very dark room with no windows. Inside is Dave Hurst's most precious and rarest duck, only something is wrong. The duck's wings are tied and so are its feet. It is resting on a chair looking off in the distance, not knowing what is happening.
Voice: So, the rarest of them all huh? Oh, this'll be fun.
The voice is immediately recognized to be that of Chainz. Chainz, almost as if on cue, steps into frame. His shirt is off; his muscles ripping with each menacing step he takes towards the duck. He has a small briefcase in hand; most likely his torture kit. He sets it down and pulls out some ink and a pad of paper. With severe quickness he pulls out a feather from the duck. The duck's cries can be heard a mile away, unfortunately for it the ambient noise of the arena blocks them all out. Chainz dips the feather in the ink and begins writing on the paper.
Chainz: Torture Outline: Step 1, show the mother fucker who's boss.
Chainz grabs the duck by the head and uses a finger to hit it, making the head bob to and fro.
As Chainz starts to repeatedly flick the duck, the door suddenly bursts open with a massive ray of light illuminating the centre of the room and the chair sitting in middle. Leaping in front of that light, offering an eclipse-like effect and making him look like some kind of messiah is Exceptional Dave Hurst, the honorary Duck Removal Officer for the night.
Dave has his trademark cheesy grin on his face as he turns to Chainz.
Dave Hurst: Aloooooooooooooooooo!
Chainz: What the fuck, do you knock?
Dave Hurst: Sorry, just wanted to see how my duck's doing.
Chainz: Fine, we having a fine ol’ time, ain't we?
Chainz places a hand on the duck and pets it gently.
Dave Hurst: Well I can take him now.
Chainz: Nah, I can keep an eye on him.
Dave Hurst: Ah okay then mate. I’ll leave him in your capable hands.
EDH leaves and almost at the instant that the door closes shut the petting goes to slapping as Chainz slaps the duck around.
Chainz: So duck, you think you're all big and shit. Ain't so bad now are ya? What do you have to say for yourself?
Duck: Quack! Quack!
Chainz: Damn straight bitch, this is gonna be a night you never forget. I got a surprise for ya.
Chainz pulls out a small knife from his briefcase.
Chainz: Let's see how agile you are in the water now.
Chainz proceeds to slice the duck's feet, making them no longer webbed.
The door bursts open once more, Chainz squints in the light to see that it is Exceptional Dave Hurst once again.
Dave Hurst: You know, you're a really nice bloke looking after him and all that mate. I really appreciate the help.
Chainz booms an intimidating laugh and retorts.
Chainz: It's my pleasure.
The door closes once more and Chainz once again turns to his yellow-beaked victim.
Chainz: Damn wanker, it's as if he's horny for you and can't stay away for five minutes. What have you two been doing duck?
Duck: Quack, quack, QUACK!!!
Chainz: Thought so, no wonder that piece of shit is always so chirpy.
Chainz reaches in his briefcase once more and pulls out some brass knuckles. He starts punching the duck in the stomach and back, producing shrills of pain from the poor defenceless animal. The duck starts bleeding from the beak and from the other wounds inflicted by Chainz.
Suddenly EDH walks back into the room.
Dave Hurst: Hey pal, this is... hey, what's that blood?
Chainz: It's my blood, I got a big match to get ready for and I gotta get ready mentally.
Dave Hurst: So you cut yourself?
Chainz: Yeah, and if you don't leave I'll cut ya too.
Dave Hurst: Sooorry. Mr Mardy Pants.
Chainz motions towards the door and Dave runs, slamming the door behind him.
Chainz: Seriously duck, I do have a match to get ready for so I'm gonna have to cut our little fun just a tad short.
Chainz approaches the duck once more, a heinous grin on his face as the camera fades.
Butterfly Hamada vs Ellis Nash
STIPULATION: SINGLES
REFEREE: SELENA SUMNER
AUTHOR: TASO
The explosive rock beat to the start of Foo Fighters' "Times Like These" causes everyone to jump to their feet as Butterfly Hamada bursts out from curtain and heads toward the ring. She has one half of the AWC Alliance Championships on her shoulder and she slaps it with her palm and lets some of the fans in the front row also slap it.
Dave Kern: Butterfly Hamada is definitely hyped for this match it seems, and she... well, it looks like she brought company.
Jeff Marx: You missed St. Patrick's Day by a good wo months, you clod. The Green Grappler strides to the ring following Hamada. His half of the tag straps is around his waist and he rubs his tummy with glee.
Dave Kern: The boys in the truck are telling me that Grapps is going to announce this match WITH us! What a treat for the fans at home and for us. An honor.
Jeff Marx: He's gonna step all over my best lines.
Steven Smith: You don't have any good lines.
As The Green Grappler takes a seat between Marz and Kern, hamada jumps into the ring. The energetic young girl wears white trunks and a white top with the same color boots and knee pads, all trimmed with royal blue. Sequins of silver create patterns of flowers on her gear, and a great big butterfly in dark blue and aqua jewls rests on her blouse.
She climbs the steel steps up to the apron quickly, slightly bowing before entering the ring. She exudes a seriousness, and a traditional attitude with a healthy respect for her sport, as she wipes her feet on the apron before entering the ring. Her attention is focused on the referee as he explains her the rules and checks her for any illegal weapons.
James Brunt: Introducing, from Tokyo, Japan, weighing in at 160 pounds... MEGUMI "BUTTERFLY" HAMADA!
Butterfly walks to the center of the ring and strikes a taunting pose as she flexes her biceps. Japanese-style streamers in blue and white drape over her as they are thrown in from the crowd.
The Green Grappler: I love those streamers! Japan has some great tarditions. Thanks for having me, boys.
Jeff Marx: Shut up and watch the master at work, freak.
The Green Grappler: Is it that time of the month, ole girl?
'Oblivion' by Aimee Allen hits and the fans go bonkers. Out comes the AWC Frontier Champion, Ellis Nash. And she is accompanied by none other than Adam Dick.
Jeff Marx: Now there is a real sight to see. Two greats coming to the ring together.
The Green Grappler: You will get no argument from me. Ellis Nash and Adam Dick look very nice together. A Jewish mother would be proud, except maybe for the tummy shirt and the tight buns.
Jeff Marx: Whose tight buns are you referring too?
Nash hits the ring, as Adam Dick holds the ropes for her. She raises the title high up in the air for the entire arena to see while Adam Dick points at her and shakes his head in agreement with the fans.
James Brunt: And to my left, weighing in at 126 pounds... from Cortland, New York... the AWC Frontier Champion... ELLIS NASH!
Jeff Marx: Ya gotta give it to her, she's the best!
The referee signals for the bell and jumps out of the way. The fans cheer. Butterfly immediately lowers into a crouch, hands low with palms upwards. She keeps Nash in front of her at all times as they circle the ring. Ellis looks focused as she feints one way scampers the other. Looking for any weakness or vulnerability in the armor, the ladies slowly close in on each other. Then they lock up with a grunt.
Dave Kern: This should be a great match. Both women are versed in shoot-style, and while Butterfly has trained in Mexico and knows lucha libre, Ellis Nash is a great high-flyer. Very evenly matched, I would say.
Jeff Marx: Yeah, but Butterfly doesn't have Adam Dick on the outside. Point to Ellis.
Ellis breaks the collar and elbow with a headlock and swings Hamada to the mat with a side takedown. Hamada snatches Ellis' head with a leg scissors but Ellis quickly kicks out and both women jump to their feet. Hamada immediately heads to the ropes, ducks under a clothesline from Nash, and on the rebound delivers a high knee to the head. Nash hits the mat. Butterfly quickly drops three succesive elbows to the chest and hooks a leg for a cover.
ONE!
Ellis kicks right out. Butterfly grabs her arm and twists it and goes for an Irish whip but Ellis reverses it and sends her to the ropes. Butterfly jumps onto the second rope and connects with a nice springboard back elbow smash. Butterfly quickly spins to her feet as Nash uses the momentum to nip up. Butterfly does a standing sommersault into a hurricanrana and connects as Nash's head slams into the mat! Hamada grabs a leg for a cover.
ONE!
Ellis again kicks out at one. Both women scramble to get to their feet. Ellis throws a quick clothesline but Hamada ducks it and slaps on an abdominal stretch.
Dave Kern: Fast paced opening minute! Hamada has that abdominal stretch on. Ellis is fighting it though... she hip tosses Hamada... NO! Hamada lands on her feet.
The Green Grappler: She rolled off of her like water off a duck's back!
Jeff Marx: How eerily apt...
Dave Kern: Short Arm Roundhouse Kick by Hamada... Ellis ducks... waistlock by Ellis... wraps her up... ROLLING JAPANESE CLUTCH PIN!
ONE!
TWO!
Steven Smith: Hamada gets her shoulder up! Wow, nice move by Nash. King Adam is happy... and when King Adam is happy, I'm happy.
Dave Kern: Roundhouse kick by Nash but Hamada spins away and delivers a snap kick to the stomach. hamada to the ropes... THESZ PRESS BY NASH! And now she is pounding away and the boos are showering down from the rafters!
The Green Grappler: Closed fist! Closed fist! C'mon referee! That zebra doesn't know what he's doing! He's like a duck out of water!
Steven Smith: Don't you mean fish?
The Green Grappler: Just because referee Selena Summers is a woman doesn't mean we need to use derogatory comments, Mr. Smith. Considering... you know...
Steven Smith: No, I don't.
Jeff Marx: Considering the fact you're a fruit, Smith. A woman!
Steven Smith: Hey! I resent that remark!
Nash pounds Butterfly into a stupor by the time the referee makes the 5 count. She grabs Butterfly by the hair and picks her up and tosses her into the corner turnbuckle. She runs in and connects with an elbow to the face. Hamada is dazed and Nash smiles. She starts chopping away at Hamada's chest as the fans boo. One final extra hard chop causes Hamada to push Nash away and try to get out of the corner where she was trapped. Nash grabs her by the hair and snapmares her down to the canvas.
The Green Grappler: (says nothing, because Taso didn’t type it)
Ellis mounts Butterfly and digs in with mounted punches again. Selena Summers makes another 5 count and Nash breaks. She looks up at the ref and snarls at her. She hits the ropes and drops a knee right on Hamada's head.
Ellis picks up Hamada off the mat and grabs her in a front headlock. Hamada tries to fight out of it but Ellis quickly explodes with power and speed, connecting with a snap suplex. She goes for a cover.
ONE!
TWO!
Hamada kicks out and Ellis goes right for a headlock. Hamada is able to get to her feet and tries to elbow her way out of the headlock but Nash knees her in the midsection and then executes a nice sitout jawbreaker. Butterfly flies backwards like she was hit with a shotgun blast. Nash looks out at Adam Dick, who urges her on. hamada uses the ropes to get to her feet, but Nash is right there and whips her across the ring.
Jeff Marx: BAM! Jumping Wheel Kick! Caught her right in the mug!
Butterfly Hamada: AAAAAAAAAAAH!
Steven Smith: Oh my! What was that?
The Green Grappler: She is Huling up! She is focusing her chi, baby!
Jeff Marx: Hamada won't stay down and is getting to one knee but Nash hits the ropes... climbing enziguiri! Hamada drops to the mat!
ONE!
TWO!
Hamada kicks out again at two and the fans cheer. Nash signals to her man that she is done as she grabs Hamada and lifts her up. A nice dropsault sends Hamada stumbling to the corner. A small Ellis Nash chant begins as she goes to work. Step jabs in the corner from Nash bust open Hamada's lower lip. Then Ellis rushes in with an elbow to the face.
Butterfly Hamada: AAAAAAAAAAAH!
Butterfly screams out, flexing her muscles and asking Nash to give her more. Nash smirks at Hamada and then straight kicks her in the gut. Left and right karate strikes rain down on Hamada. She stumbles on her feet. Back Spinning Heel Kick!
ONE!
TWO!
The Green Grappler: Kick out, partner! Yeah, that’s it!
Jeff Marx: Your partner is getting her ass kicked in there, Green-boy.
The Green Grappler: Shut your trap, sausage smuggler!
Jeff Marx: I'm not the chocolate cowboy, here!
The Green Grappler: Hey, if it talks like a duck, and waks like a duck, and looks like a duck, then it must be a duck!
Nash chops Hamada across the chest, but Hamada won't go down so easily and returns the chop with a forearm of her own. Nash chops again, and Hamada forearms her with gusto. Nash holds her jaw for a second, making sure it's OK, and then wails on Hamada with another back chop. Hamada screams again, and the fans scream with her. Hamada smashes Nash in the face with repeated forearms as they stumble back towards the ropes. Hamada then whips Nash across the ring, but gets caught by Nash’s flying head scissors. Nash quickly clambers to her feet and hits the ropes and connects with a double-leg dropkick to the chin!
Jeff Marx: CRICKEY! The whole arena heard that blow!
Nash grabs Hamada's limp arm and wraps her up for a crucifix cradle, pinning her shoulders to the mat.
ONE!
TWO!
Dave Kern: WHOA! I was sure she had her right there! The ref signals it was a two count!
The Green Grappler: Nash can't beat Hamada! You're all dreaming. This will be like duck soup for my partner.
Dave Kern: Thank you, Mr. Cliché.
The Green Grappler: Like shooting ducks in a pond!
Dave Kern: Thank you, no.
Nash whips Hamada into the corner turnbuckle and smashes her face into it a few times. Ellis then climbs to sit on the top turnbuckle, and grabs Hamada's head in a front face lock. She twirls her finger, signalling for a tornado DDT. She whips herself outwards and is about to deliver the head drop but Hamada throws her off and Nash lands on her feet in the middle of the ring. Surprised her move was countered she rushes in only to meet the crushing snap of a Hamada rolling koppou kick!
The Green Grappler: That's a slam duck, ladies and gentlemen!
Dave Kern: Slam dunk, not slam du--- oh, who cares!
Nash scurries to her feet but Hamada beats her to it and dropkicks her in the face. The fans start to get raucous. Both women get up together and Nash goes for another chop but Hamada ducks it and sends her flying with a Mexican armdrag. Nash rushes in again, madder then before with a punch but Hamada blocks it and it flows nicely into an STO. Hamada keeps her wits about her and goes for a back mounted side roll cradle for a pin.
ONE!
TWO!
Nash breaks the hold and again both women are on their feet at the same time, the match quickening in pace. Nash swings at Hamada but she ducks and somehow manages to clamp on a fireman's carry cradle and again pins Nash's shoulders to the mat.
ONE!
TWO!
Nash breaks the hold again at two. Hamada holds her arm as both of them fight for dominance. Hamada pulls Nash in for a waistlock and delivers a bridging Northern Lights Suplex!
ONE!
TWO!
Another kick out by Nash, but the stress of the flash pins is obvious on her face. The Frontier champion throws a high kick but Hamada grabs her leg and takes her to the mat. She grabs her arms and then plants her knees in Ellis' back and slaps on a bow & arrow submission hold.
Dave Kern: Nice move by Hamada! Ellis Nash looks to be in trouble because she isn't close to the ropes. This move doesn't allow much chance at the ropes anyway, and Nash is trapped. The referee is asking her if she wants to give up but she is not saying yes... she is not saying no either!
The Green Grappler: That's my partner! I think she's gonna get an upset here!
Jeff Marx: She trying to unhook her arm... she got it free! She rolls to her side and jumps to her feet and Hamada is too slow... BAM! ROCKER DROPPER!
Steven Smith: Butterfly is stunned! She's getting up... Nash is behind her... DECREE! Nash hit The Decree!
Dave Kern: Inverted DDT!
ONE!
TWO!
THREE!
Dave Kern:WOW! Just like that! The match is over and Nash is the winner! What a warm-up for Aimz next week!
The Green Grappler: Ellis Nash, I give her credit, she is good. I'll be looking to ger a rematch, you can bet your bottom dollar on that! I'm going to go check out my partner... later Grappaholics!
Putting Faith In JessEx
FEATURING: JESSICA O'GRADY, ???
AUTHOR: ???
As we cut backstage again, we see Jessica O'Grady in the final stages of a conversation on her cell phone. She's looking smartly dressed as usual, in conservative, yet attractive business attire. As she closes her cell phone and slips it back into her pocket, she removes a strand of blond hair from her face with her free hand, pushing it back behind her ear. Her expression is a contemplative one. Indeed, she is in such deep thought that she almost jumps when she hears her name spoken.
???: Ms. O'Grady?
Startled, she turns to find the man in the blue suit standing a few feet away from her, regarding her with a contemplative look of his own, eyebrow raised in question. It takes her a second to compose herself before she is able to reply.
Jessica O’Grady: Yes?
He flashes his teeth in a predator-like smile.
???: As I understand it, you're the close acquaintance of one Jack Murphy.
Unease can be read in Jessica's expression, her eyes fluttering back and forth, scanning the hallway for friendly souls in case she may be in need of aid. Finding no one in sight, she reluctantly focuses her attention on the man standing in front of her.
Jessica O’Grady: I'm not exactly sure what you mean by close, but yes, Jack's a friend of mine.
Nodding his head, the man reaches into his jacket and pulls out another nondescript manila envelope, much like the same ones he handed to Kip Brown and the Furious Fists of God earlier in the evening.
???: I was hoping to be able to speak to Mr. Murphy in person tonight, you see, but since he's nowhere to be found, I was hoping you would be able to do me a favor. Can you see that this envelope finds its way into his hands?
The envelope is thrusted out in Jessica's direction, and she hesitates a second before grabbing it. She looks it over, frowning, before looking back up at the man with a questioning expression.
Jessica O’Grady: What's in it?
???: Simply a matter to be discussed between Mr. Murphy and my employer. So can I trust you to deliver it?
Jessica says nothing in reply, merely nodding her head, looking anxious for this conversation to end.
???: Your cooperation is, of course, appreciated and will not be forgotten. Good night, Ms. O'Grady.
The man nods his head at her and turns on his heel, walking off in the direction he came, the echo of his footsteps reverberating through the empty halls. As soon as he is out of sight, Jessica allows herself the shudder she has been suppressing, before heading off camera in the opposite direction, envelope in hand.
Red Rock (C) vs Anton Assault
STIPULATION: WEAPONS
REFEREE: RICHIE TRAVIS
AUTHOR: JOSH KALVELAGE
James BruntThe following is a Weapons match, and it is for the AWC Relentless championship! Introducing first, the challenger, from Paris, France, accompanied to the ring by Luis Ferrara, Anton Assault!
“Vomitself” by Boris starts to fill the arena, and the fans start to boo in the dark arena, trying to overpower the droning guitars before someone gets their soul crushed. The fans boo even more furiously when they see Luis Ferrara walk onto the stage, wearing a suit that only Luis could pull off.
Dave Kern: The fans don’t seem to be taking to kindly to Anton Assault here in Sweden, but Red Rock’s impressively active reign as Relentless champion might come to a close tonight.
Steven Smith: And even if it doesn’t, I’d let Anton have a rematch against my relentless champion after the show.
Anton follows behind him, wearing a brightly colored dashiki. The two walk to the ring, and Anton gets in as Luis claps and boasts in Spanish on the outside of the ring. Anton removes his dashiki, folds it up, and hands the dashiki to Luis before warming up and staring down the ramp in expectance of his prey.
James Brunt: And his opponent, the AWC Relentless champion, from Aldershot, England, Red Rock!
The opening feedback of "Blame Thrower" by Reuben hits as the lights lower to darkness. The riff begins and the lights flicker red, and Red Rock's logo hits the big screen. A heavy riff kicks in.
We all have responsibilities,
we all have a social debt
and if there is a man free of guilt,
I haven't met him yet
Red Rock bursts out from behind the curtain with lots of energy and the Relentless title around his waist.
Dave Kern: Still, I wouldn’t sell this man short for a second. He’s gone through great lengths to hold and preserve that title: the Boardwalk match, Back to School against Vince Jones…
Steven Smith: I have to disagree. I got my hands on a bootleg copy of the alleged Red Rock sex tape. He sells himself short in that one.
Jeff Marx: That’s the one where Red Rock pees on the underage girl, right?
Dave Kern: You two are both idiots. Red Rock wasn’t in that sex tape, he was passed out drunk. And Jeff, you’re thinking of R. Kelly.
Jeff Marx: So you admit you’ve seen both tapes?
Dave Kern: I… uh… I never…
Jeff Marx: Just call the match, you pervert.
So now you’re backed in a corner,
you’re under verbal attack
they’re pointing fingers like guns in your face and
nobody’s got your back
Red Rock walks down to the ring with a cheeky smile on his face giving members of the crowd a nod and a thumbs-up through the security fence. Outside of the ring, Red Rock takes off his Relentless title belt. He holds onto it as he slides under the bottom rope, agilely gets to his feet and charges after Anton Assault with the intention of taking his head off with the title.
Dave Kern: Red Rock’s not wasting any time. He knows what he’s going to need to do to keep his title.
Anton Assault ducks under the shot. Both wrestlers turn towards each other after stopping momentum, and Assault kicks Red Rock stiffly in the gut. Red Rock doubles over, dropping the Relentless title, and Anton capitalizes with a stiff elbow to Red Rock’s neck. Red Rock falls to the apron, his face down on the mat, and Anton quickly drops a knee right in the same spot before positioning himself over Red Rock and applying a half nelson.
Dave Kern: It looks like Anton is assaulting Red Rock’s neck.
Jeff Marx: Maybe he should try assaulting it with weapons. He knows they’re legal in this match, right?
Red Rock tries to squirm out of the half nelson, and Anton feels his grip loosening a bit, so Anton lets go and drives a quick series of elbows to Red Rock’s neck. Red Rock rolls away from Anton, shielding his neck, but Anton gives chase. He peels Red Rock up by the hair and pulls the Relentless champion back into a standing dragon sleeper. Anton slowly lowers Red Rock’s back into his knee, but Red Rock uses his tremendous balance to kick his feet out more to keep his body straight. Red Rock reaches his arms up around Anton’s neck, and in a split second, pushes off with his legs back-flipping so that Red Rock’s body, while upside down, falls backwards onto Anton’s. They land in a pinning combination, and referee Richie Travis drops down for the first count of the match.
ONE!
Anton kicks out with ease, and both wrestlers get to their feet, and square off again. The competitors slowly negotiate their way into a grapple, which Anton turns into a quick hammerlock. Red Rock reverses the hammerlock, ducking under and pulling Anton into a hammerlock of his own, but Red Rock, not too familiar with submission tactics, whips Anton by his wrenched arm into the turnbuckles.
Dave Kern: Looks like Red Rock’s done his research.
Anton tries to stop himself from hitting the turnbuckle, and successfully halts his motion by grabbing onto the ropes on either side of the turnbuckle. Unfortunately for him, Red Rock is right behind him with a running shoulder block to Anton’s knee. Anton’s weight buckles, and he lands kneeling in front of the turnbuckles with his face thudding against the middle rope. Red Rock starts taunting in the ring to rile up the crowd, and as he wastes time, Luis shouts warnings to Anton in Spanish. Red Rock charges at Anton and leaps into the air, but Anton slides underneath Red Rock, and Red Rock’s rocks smash into the second turnbuckle. Red Rock sits, perched, in great gonadal pain, facing outside the ring.
Steven Smith: I wonder if Red Rock needs a medic. I know CPR, and I’m sure it works on other places than the mouth.
Jeff Marx: I’m bringing a pair of wire cutters next week, and I swear to Christ, if you ever say anything that gay again, I’m going to cut the line from your mic.
As Assault examines the situation, waiting for Red Rock to untangle himself, Luis climbs up on the apron and punches Red Rock in the face with a closed fist and several solid pieces of jewelry ringed around his fingers. Red Rock falls backwards, and Assault gets in pounce position. Red Rock gets up gingerly, and Anton Assault puts him right back down with a powerful spear. Anton follows up with the cover.
ONE!
TWO!
Dave Kern: Red Rock’s shoulder is up. That was a close one. I thought Red Rock had all the wind knocked out of him.
Jeff Marx: But did you see his head snap back with the force of that spear? It won’t be long now before Anton’s got that Relentless title.
Anton Assault pulls Red Rock back up and pushes him against the turnbuckles where he starts unleashing elbows towards Red Rock’s face. An uppercut and a kick to the knee later, and Assault has completed his Assault Quad combo. Red Rock drops to his knees in front of Anton, and Anton holds Red Rock up by the hair.
Steven Smith: Red Rock appears to be in a very desirable position.
Jeff Marx: You’re an idiot. This is a Relentless title match, not a homosexual fantasy.
Inside the ring, Anton slowly begins to remove his wrestling attire as the lights dim to a purple shade, and romantic music begins to play. Red Rock licks his lips at the prospect of the succulent Nigerian delicacy he is about to feast on.
Dave Kern: Didn’t anybody deliver the memo to the production crew to cancel the idea of setting up a camera in Steven’s mind?
Back in reality, Anton, wearing his full wrestling attire, snapmares Red Rock into the center of the ring. Red Rock lands in a sitting position, and Anton follows up with a low dropkick.
Dave Kern: Red Rock hasn’t really had a chance to turn things around. Anton is a smart fighter. He doesn’t give his opponents chance for recovery.
Steven Smith: In other words, Anton is “relentless.”
Dave Kern: Shut up.
Steven Smith: Sorry. Pearl told me I had to say that at some point in this match or Maddy Estelle would take my spot.
Jeff Marx: Dammit, if I had those wire cutters, you’d be out of here.
Assault, meanwhile, locks Red Rock into a triangle hold on the mat, his legs wrapped firmly around Red Rock’s neck and arms. Red Rock tries to pull himself out of the hold, but he only hurts himself more, like he’s stuck in one of those goddamned Chinese finger traps. Damn those Chinamen!
Dave Kern: Red Rock needs to find a way out, quickly, or Anton’s going to dismantle his limbs.
Jeff Marx: The match is far from over. We haven’t even seen any weapons.
Red Rock starts rolling, but Anton won’t let go of the hold, so the two roll together.
Steven Smith: They should call him Rolling Rock!
Jeff Marx: That’s it. I’m going to the hardware store. Wire cutters.
As Jeff Marx throws his headset down and leaves, Red Rock rolls with Anton underneath the bottom rope, and both fall to the mat outside the ring. Anton releases the hold during the falling process, and both hit the outside hard. Luis hurries over in his suit to start stomping on Red Rock, but Richie Travis gets in between Luis and Red Rock and warns Luis Ferrara to back off. Luis acts as if he wasn’t doing anything while Anton and Red Rock both slowly get up, Anton a little quicker to his feet.
Red Rock pulls himself up with the ring apron, and Anton flies at him with a desperation kick to the face, but Red Rock lets go of the apron, drops down, and watches at Anton barely misses him and crashes into the corner of the apron. Anton stumbles around holding his shocked leg, and Red Rock tears away the padding outside the ring, revealing cement. Red Rock perches himself on the apron, and as soon as Anton Assault gets up, Red Rock runs off of the apron and catches Anton with a flying head scissors that lands him right on the concrete.
Dave Kern: Red Rock’s still alive with that high impact maneuver. Anton’s lucky that he’s not inside the ring right now.
Anton stays down, but Red Rock isn’t finished. Red Rock climbs to the top rope, slowly, and as he mounts the top, Anton still isn’t stirring. Luis runs over to the apron, jumps up, and starts pulling Red Rock’s leg, but Red Rock steadies himself by crouching down, holding onto the ropes and kicking Luis back off the apron. In this time, Anton has gotten up, and has mounted the apron. Anton and Red Rock begin trading punches, but Red Rock, with the fire of the fans on his side, wins out, and grabs Anton into an inverted headlock while Red is on the second turnbuckle now, and Anton is on the apron facing the ring. Red Rock steps over the turnbuckle so that he is standing on the second rope, next to Anton with an arm inverted around the front of Anton’s neck. Red Rock flips over the top rope, pulling Anton over. Anton clears the top rope, and Red Rock delivers a beautiful Flying Somersault DDT into the ring!
Dave Kern: Holy crap! That was an incredible move. Red Rock just planted Anton Assault on his head.
Steven Smith: (Insert gay comment here before sending in match)
Red Rock covers Anton Assault.
ONE!
TWO!
THREE!
Count Von Count: Ah ah ah!
As thunder claps, referee Richie Travis signals that Anton got his shoulder up just in time. Red Rock is frustrated, but noting that Anton is still jarred from the head plant, he wastes no time in sliding outside the ring and searching for objects of maiming. Rock pulls up the apron and slides out a wooden table and a garbage can. Red Rock tosses the can into the ring and slides the table under the ring before reentering.
Dave Kern: It looks like things are about to get interesting.
Red Rock stomps on Anton Assault a few times for good measure before setting the table diagonally against the opposite turnbuckles. Red Rock then retrieves the trash can and smashes it over Assault’s chest. Red Rock pulls Anton up with one hand, and the dazed Lion swings a fist at Red Rock. Red Rock sidesteps the punch and slams a knee into Anton’s gut. Assault bends forward, and Red Rock places the garbage can over Assault’s head and upper body before tossing him into the diagonal table. Anton Assault crashes through, and the wood breaks. As Anton rolls out of the ring, the garbage can falls off of his head in the process. Jeff Marx returns to his seat with a pair of wire cutters.
Jeff Marx: Dammit! What did I miss?
Dave Kern: Hell breaking loose… and some severely uncomfortable and witless banter between Steven and me.
As Anton tries to pull himself to his feet, Red Rock walks over to the ropes and waits for the right spot. Red Rock sees Anton looking like he’s just about to rise, and Red Rock slingshots over the top rope with a cross body. Reacting instantaneously, Anton tosses the garbage can at Red Rock.
Dave Kern: Anton’s got quick reflexes, even after his head has been pummeled.
At the peak of his jump, Red Rock catches the garbage can, and starts to plummet down towards Anton, shifting his body to smash the can over Anton’s head, but out of nowhere, Anton places a precise Blackout Kick to the can! The garbage can drives right back into Red Rock’s face, folding violently, and leaving Red Rock to land in a crumpled mass on the outside. Anton stumbles back from the force and lands on the ground as well, attempting to slowly recover.
Dave Kern: I think as good as Anton is, he has learned the hard way that he might have to actually use any weapon he can to beat the Relentless Champion in a weapons match. Jeff Marx: Uh, guys. I think Red Rock might be paralyzed from the neck down. I think Anton realizes that he can’t make a man submit if that man can’t really feel his limbs.
Steven Smith: (Insert tasteless joke about Christopher Reeves here. Then follow it up with another homo joke).
Luis Ferrara, identifying one of Anton’s finishing maneuvers, runs over and rolls Red Rock back into the ring. Red Rock is completely out of it, and Luis begins his second task of trying to help Anton Assault back into the ring. Anton, however, pushes Luis aside, wanting to do things on his own, and he slowly stumbles towards the ring, climbing the ring steps to save energy and nearly falling through the ropes. He drapes an arm over Red Rock.
ONE!
TWO!
TWO AND A HALF!
Red Rock gets a shoulder up weakly.
Dave Kern: Wait a minute. Did the referee just count to two and a half?
Jeff Marx: I think so. Looks like Red Rock defied the odds. There was only a fifteen percent chance that the Blackout Kick would lead to a two and a half count. Dammit. That means I just lost five bucks.
Jeff Marx rips up a ticket.
Dave Kern: What the hell are you talking about?
The referee begins counting to ten, and I write out each count, pretending to do it because I’m making the match more dramatic, but actually doing it so the match looks longer.
ONE!
TWO!
THREE!
Both men are slithering towards the ropes like snakes. Anton appears to be a tad more coherent.
FOUR!
Anton grabs hold of the bottom rope and begins to pull himself up.
FIVE!
Red Rock, a second behind begins to do the same.
SIX!
Anton to his knees.
SEVEN!
Red Rock to his knees.
EIGHT!
Anton Assault is up on his feet now. The referee stops counting, and Red Rock gets up just in time for a kick to Red Rock’s ribs. Red Rock leans on the ropes, and Anton squares off, delivering a series of jabs to Red Rock’s kidneys. Anton tries to follow it up with a tiger suplex, but Red Rock locks his legs in the ropes, and Anton can’t get him over. Anton rethinks his strategy, and slams Red Rock straight down instead of trying to pull him over for a suplex. Red Rock can’t shift in time to avoid this, so with his bent knees locked over the second rope, and his toes wrapped under the inside of the first rope, his head smashes into the mat, and his arched body lays prone for Anton to nearly decapitate with another knee before turning to closed fist ground and pound tactics.
Dave Kern: Anton is now using his hands as weapons. This would be illegal in a normal match.
Anton then rolls outside of the ring, and applies his mastery of the laws of physics to the match. Anton grabs Red Rock’s heels and pulls them against the ropes, straightening Red Rock out by pushing his knees towards the ring and against the second rope. Red Rock’s upper body rises up sharply before Anton releases the heels. Red Rock falls back and smashes the back of his head into the canvas again. Anton keeps pulling and then releasing, and Red Rock’s head is repeatedly being smashed against the canvas.
Dave Kern: Anton Assault is mightily resourceful here.
Jeff Marx: And Red Rock is getting his head hilariously smashed. Three cheers for the lever and pulley system!
Steven Smith: Speaking of the lever and pulley system, that reminds me of…
Steven Smith quiets himself immediately upon the sight of Jeff Marx’s arm, holding up the wire cutters. Anton, getting bored with this maneuver, unhooks Red Rock from the ropes. Anton pulls Red Rock out of the ring, and Red Rock lands dazed on his feet on the outside. Anton doubles Red Rock over with a shotei, and rises from the shotei with a knee to the face that stands Red Rock up. Anton drops him with a single punch, before dragging Red Rock towards the security fence.
Dave Kern: Shotei Combination, and now Anton is dragging Red Rock towards the fence with bad intentions.
Anton pulls Red Rock towards him, catching him under the inside quad and around the collar bone with his respective hands. Assault capture suplexes Red Rock right into the security fence, and Red Rock falls awkwardly down to the mats outside the ring.
Jeff Marx: I think Anton’s trying to sever Red Rock’s spine. It’s a little vicious, but I like the kid’s moxie.
Anton rolls Red Rock back into the ring, and Red Rock tries to struggle to his feet as Anton Assault climbs up to the apron. Anton reaches over the apron to punch Red Rock, but Red Rock falls to one knee and jabs Anton Assault in the stomach weakly. Red Rock slowly stands up and tries to suplex Anton over the top rope, but Anton blocks, reverses the suplex, but instead of falling backwards, drops Red Rock’s split legs over the top rope. In the process of smashing Red Rock’s testicles, one of Red Rock’s legs gets wedged between the top and middle ropes, and Red Rock’s body hangs over the outside.
Jeff Marx: That would have been a lot more effective if Red Rock had any nuts left.
Dave Kern: I don’t know, Jeff, it looks like this could be nearing the end of the line for Red Rock.
Anton Assault, noting that anything is legal in this match finds that the defending champion is in perfect prone position, and Assault locks him in.
Dave Kern: Barbosa’s Footsteps! And it’s legal now. Red Rock almost has to tap out.
Red Rock writhes in pain, his neck is in a world of hurt already, and the added stress of the hold is too much to bear. Red Rock tries to work his arm free, but his struggle only causes more pain. Richie Travis asks Red Rock if he wants to tap.
Dave Kern: I don’t know if Red Rock has any options left.
Red Rock shakes his head to signal “no,” and he suddenly swings his foot out from its stuck position. Red Rock throws his legs back to land on his feet as both men plummet down outside the ring. Red Rock completes the backflip and lands on his feet, but Anton, who lands on his back, still locks in the hold!
Dave Kern: What resilience by both of these competitors. They both deserve to be the Relentless champion.
Jeff Marx: Yeah, but there can only be one Relentless champion. That’s why we only made one Relentless championship title.
Red Rock uses all the strength he has to pull Anton up, and he gets Anton off the ground. In one desperate attempt, Red Rock pulls Anton’s body parallel to his own before ramming Anton into the corner of the ring apron. Both men let go of each other, Anton arching his back in pain, and Red Rock pulling a chain out from under the ring and wrapping it around his hand. Red Rock squares off in front of Anton Assault and starts blasting him with fists as the Swedish crowd chants along.
“Ett… Tva… Tre… Fyra… Fem… Sex… Sju… Atta… Nia… Tia!”
Red Rock has busted Anton open, and Anton is bleeding deep red. Red Rock rolls Anton to the ring before sliding in himself. As Red Rock untangles the chain from his hand in the corner, Anton refuses to stay down, standing up and charging at the blurry Red Rock he sees near the turnbuckle. Anton dives forward for the Crush!
Jeff Marx: BAM! – damn…
But no one’s there! Red Rock slips behind Red Rock, wrapping the chain around his neck in the process. Red Rock swings Anton Assault’s body up with the chains before swinging him back down headfirst to the ground with the RDT! Red Rock goes for the pin.
ONE!
Dave Kern: It looks like Red Rock…
TWO!
Dave Kern:…has survived another grueling challenge for the Relentless title…
THREE!
Dave Kern: …once again!
Referee Richie Travis holds Red Rock’s arm up in victory as Red Rock drops to one knee, breathing heavily.
James Brunt: The winner, and still AWC Relentless champion: Red Rock!
Lingering
FEATURING: JESSICA O'GRADY, ADAM DICK, JI-HIMMY JIHAD, ???
AUTHOR: JOE SCHMIDT
The pit-patter of feet can be heard coming down the corridor. It's broken and in discord as it seems to be searching, yearning for something. As the noise comes closer we can hear the clicking of heels now. It becomes clear finally that it is Jessica O'Grady.
And she's frightened.
Her entire body shivers and fidgets nervously at every step, her head twirling around her in every direction, constantly trying to find whatever it is she's looking for. In her hands is clutched an envelope and she holds it precariously. It inspires her to hold it with reverence and care, making sure she doesn't tarnish it. She continues to wander the corridors.
And then a crackle.
Her lips go cold at the noise and she halts abruptly. She mouths a word that can't be picked up and slowly she turns towards the origin of the sound.
For a second, she thinks she hears whispers. Cries. Of betrayal. Of feigned interests. Of desired revenge.
For a second, she thinks she hears someone whispering her name...
Until it’s drowned out by a completely different source, now down the hall from her and smack in plain view.
Adam Dick and Ji-Himmy Jihad. Oh, and ducks. Ducks are surrounding them.
The two approach the wary Jessica rather abruptly, ducks following.
Adam Dick: WHERE THE HELL HAVE YOU BEEN!?!?
Startled, she turns from the mystery if only to forget about it for a moment and deal with this inane human being she called an employer.
Adam Dick: I had to give an interview with Sarah Kennedy and you were nowhere in sight! What did I tell you!?! You have a job to do and that’s to make me look pretty and smart! I can’t have that when the fucking interviewer is intentionally making me look like a bufu faggot!
Sarah just turns away in disgust and begins to walk in the opposite direction. Adam runs in front of her to halt her path.
Adam Dick: And then you just let me get roasted by Sasha and Pearl when they’re all jumping down my throat! You’re supposed to be at my back.
Jessica O’Grady: I... well...
Jess halts and looks around, strangely unafraid of the King of AWC. She instinctively instead looks at the envelope.
Adam Dick: What the Hell is this shit? Writing to your pen-pals or something?
Adam snatches the envelope from Jessica's hand before she can react.
Jessica O’Grady: Give that back.... give it back now.
She rips at Adam and manages to tear it away from him, ripping it slightly and clutching it tighter than before.
Jessica O’Grady: It's personal... so leave it. And why do you need me anyway? You've had your fun and played us all for fools, why don't you just fire me?
Adam begins to laugh.
Adam Dick: Fun? You don't even know, Jess. THE FUN IS ABOUT TO BEGIN! And why would I fire a woman with such talent as yourself?! You're supposed to do your job, and DO IT TO THE MAX! Right Ji-Himmy? ....... Ji-Himmy?
Adam looks behind Jessica, to find Ji-Himmy Jihad rather displeased.
A duck happened to leave a bit of excrement on the toe of his makeshift sandal or moccasin or whatever it is Muslims wear on their feet.
Ji-Himmy Jihad: YOU VILE BEAST! YOU HAVE WRONGED ME AND FOR THAT YOU HAVE FORFEITED YOUR LIFE AND MINE! NO ONE SHALL DISRESPECT ALLAH AND GET AWAY WITH IT! NO ONE!
With that, Ji-Himmy rips his shirt off and reveals dynamite strapped to his chest.
Ji-Himmy Jihad: JIHAD ON YOU!
The duck, scared shitless, takes off down the hall for its life. The other ducks and Ji-Himmy Jihad follow frantically, because Ji-Himmy will be damned to hell if anyone gets away with offending him.
Adam Dick: Huh. Well he's never done that before...
Jessica just looks on down the corridor before slowly turning and heading to leave.
Adam Dick: Wait, Jessica. I don't think you get it. YOU ARE MINE NOW. So why don't you just go with the flow and make with the nice play, huh?
Adam Dick: That's right. Don't worry, little lady, things will start to look up. You've just got to understand one thing when you're rolling with the King; things are NEVER as they seem.
And as the two step out of sight, out of mind, one set of eyes can't help but wince at the scene. A pair of eyes that no one knew lingered.
A pair of shifty Irish Eyes that won't soon forget.
Darcy Crisis vs Chainz
STIPULATION: SINGLES
REFEREE: MICHAEL RYAN
AUTHOR: JEREMY J.
Dave Kern: We have finally reached tonight’s climax---
Steven Smith: Climax? Ooh, I love climaxes---
Jeff Marx: Get your head outta the gutter!
Steven Smith: (depressed) Sorry...
Dave Kern: Can we move on, please? Anyway, as I was saying, we’ve reached tonight’s Main Event: Chainz takes on Aimz’s boyfriend, Darcy Crisis.
Jeff Marx: Haha! Good one, Dave! “Boyfriend”! As if Darcy were... a GUY or something! Ha!
Dave Kern: ...Now how this match came about was the result of last week’s Main Event between Aimz and Ellis Nash. Chainz stuck his nose where it doesn’t belong, distracted Aimz from winning the Frontier title---
Jeff Marx: That whore was never gonna win out against Ellis Nash!
Dave Kern: ...and then Adam Dick came in, leveling Aimz with a steel chair, causing the disqualification. Ellis Nash is still the Frontier champion while Aimz lives to fight another day.
Jeff Marx: Thank God that tramp didn’t win the Frontier title. She would’ve besmirched the royal name of Queen Ellis by taking the title. With King Dick and Queen Nash at the helm as Transatlantic and Frontier champions respectively, things in AWC will remain to run smoothly. And tonight, Chainz is going to annihilate Darcy Crisis, while another thing is going to run smoothly - Darcy’s blood all over the ring.
Steven Smith: Ew, I don’t like blood, especially if a sexy dude is bleeding...
Dave Kern: The conflict between Chainz and Crisis comes because Crisis, desperate to carry out Aimz’ instruction not to let anyone get involved, rushed to remove Chainz from ringside when he made his appearance. Of course Chainz retaliated and the brawl meant that Crisis couldn’t stop Dick... so it’s Chainz’ fault Aimz took a beating.
Jeff Marx: But Chainz didn’t even get involved! He was just standing there watching until that overhyped little girl Darcy attacked him!
Dave Kern: I hardly think---
Steven Smith: Let’s go down to the ring, shall we? James Brunt, take it away!
James Brunt: The following Main Event is a singles match!
“Cure” by The Wild Colonials starts to play, and the Swedish immediately begins the combatant about to step onto the steel stage. A few seconds later, AWC’s most sadistic wrestler, Chainz, steps onto the steel stage with a smug look on his face. He looks out into the crowd, shakes his head sadly at them and makes his way down to the ring.
James Brunt: First, from Birmingham, Alabama, weighing 295 pounds... CHAINZ!
Steven Smith: Look at that gorgeous hunk of monster - 6’5” 295 pounds of hunky muscle. I’d let him ass-rape me any day!
Jeff Marx: God, did you really have to say that?! Jesus fucking Christ!
Dave Kern: Can it, you two!
Jeff Marx & Steven Smith: Yes, Dad.
James Brunt: His opponent...
Hide your face forever...
Dream and search forever...
A heavy guitar riff hits, marking the opening of “Open Your Eyes” by the Guano Apes. Darcy bursts through the curtain with his arm raised high. He points at the fans who give him the biggest reactions, trying to get everybody fired up.
James Brunt: Making his way to the ring, from East Bay, California... weighing in at 227 pounds, DARCY CRISIS!
Darcy slides into the ring under the ropes, taking in the fan reaction for a few moments before climbing the turnbuckle, thumping his chest twice and throwing both arms into the air.
Dave Kern: Darcy Crisis is in the ring and he just took Mike Sloan with a Spear!
Steven Smith: Darcy has Chainz mounted! That’s so hot!
Jeff Marx: Oh, God. What did I do to deserve working with the oldest fag on the planet?!
Ring announcer James Brunt hightails out of the ring after Darcy Crisis runs Mike Sloan over with a Spear. He mounts Chainz, throwing lefts and rights about the head and face of the sadist monster, but Chainz easily shoves his smaller opponent off. Chainz sits up, about to get to his feet, but Crisis is already on his feet, charging at his monstrous opponent and levels him hard in the face with a Dropkick. He goes for the first cover of the match...
ONE!
Mike “Chainz” Sloan powers out after the one. “The Darcinator” Darcy Crisis is the first one to a vertical base, picks up Chainz and administers a Headlock. Before he can take Chainz down with a Headlock Takedown, Chainz counters by using his strength, taking Darcy into the air and driving Darcy’s spine onto the mat with a Backdrop Suplex. Chainz gets to his feet, grabs a handful of hair and yanks “D to tha C” up onto his feet and takes him down hard with a Clothesline. Keeping his grip on Darcy’s hair, he yanks him up onto his feet again and executes an even harder Clothesline, almost knocking Crisis out!
Dave Kern: What malicious power by Chainz! He could’ve easily ripped Darcy’s hair out of his scalp!
Jeff Marx: It would’ve been awesome if we saw a scalping on live television...
Steven Smith: That’s. Just. Disgusting.
Chainz grabs a handful of hair and drags Darcy Crisis one-handed across the ring and throws him into a corner. He starts throwing lefts and rights to the face, and kicks in the gut. Referee Michael Ryan steps in and breaks up the melee. Chainz gets in his face, intimidating the referee until Ryan backs off. Finally getting out of the referee’s face, Chainz goes back to his onslaught. Unfortunately for Chainz, “D Masta C” flies out of the corner and takes his monstrous opponent down with a Clothesline. The Swedish crowd is on their feet, cheering for Crisis.
“DC! DC! DC! DC! DC!”
Darcy Crisis picks up Mike Sloan. Chainz wildly swings at Darcy, but Darcy counters with an Arm-bar Takedown and locks in a Fujiwara Arm-bar, pulling back as far as he can.
Dave Kern: Fujiwara Arm-bar by Darcy Crisis! Break his damn arm!
Jeff Marx: C’mon, Chainz, fight out of it!
Steven Smith: BOCA~!
Darcy Crisis continues to pull back on the Fujiwara Arm-bar, obviously trying to break Mike “Chainz” Sloan’s arm. Chainz is trying to find a way to break the hold, but to no avail. Due to his lack of wrestling experience and lack of submission escapes, he can’t break the hold. The only thing he can do is drag himself towards the ropes and break the hold that way. With one arm, he attempts to pull himself towards the ropes, while carrying 227 pounds on his back and shoulder. “The Darcinator” pulls back on the Fujiwara Arm-bar again, getting a roar out of Chainz, stopping him from pulling himself to the ropes.
Dave Kern: Darcy Crisis can win the match if he can make Mike Sloan tap out! He’s got that Fujiwara Arm-bar locked in tight and Chainz’s attempt by pulling himself towards the ropes has ceased!
Steven Smith: These two sexy men are giving it everything they have and I love it! Two sweaty muscular men competing in an erotic display of ballet!
Jeff Marx: Oh God! Now I’m not gonna get that image out of my head!
Dave Kern: Chainz has made it to the ropes and Darcy Crisis has to let go of the Fujiwara Arm-bar! Dammit! I wanted to see Crisis break his damn arm.
After getting into the ropes, Darcy Crisis is forced to break the hold while Mike Sloan, better known as “Chainz,” clutches at his shoulder, trying to get the feeling back in his shoulder. After getting the feeling back in his shoulder, he gets to his feet. “D Masta C” charges at Chainz, but Chainz ducks underneath Crisis, and throws him out of the ring. Crisis lands on his back hard with a sickening THUD!
Dave Kern: Darcy Crisis took a nasty spill onto the outside! His back has got to be killing him!
Jeff Marx: There goes Chainz stalking his victim! He’s got something evil planned in his malignant mind!
Steven Smith: Look out, Darcy!
Mike Sloan is on the outside now, looking down at Darcy Crisis with an evil smile on his face. Grabbing a handful of hair, he hikes him up into the air and grabs him in a bear hug fashion. With a head full of steam, he charges at a ring post, driving Darcy’s spine into it. Chainz doesn’t let go. Instead, he backs up, charges at the ring post again and slams Darcy’s back into it again! This time he lets Crisis go.
Dave Kern: Good God! Chainz could’ve broke Darcy Crisis’ back! He’s a sick, sadistic bastard!
Jeff Marx: HA HA! Chainz just picked up Darcy Crisis and used him a javelin by throwing him face first into the steel ring post! Crisis is bleeding like a stuck pig!
Steven Smith: Well, there goes Darcy’s good looks... ’tis a pity.
Darcy Crisis is busted wide open and bleeding profusely from his forehead after getting thrown face first into the steel ring post, courtesy of Mike “Chainz” Sloan! Chainz has a vicious smile on his face, looking down at his bloodied opponent. He picks up Darcy Crisis and rolls him into the ring. When Chainz enters the ring, he goes for the cover, hooking the leg...
ONE!
TWO!
THR-
No! Darcy Crisis gets the shoulder up before three! Chainz picks up Darcy, whips him into the ropes and drives “The Darcinator’s” spine hard with a Spine Buster! Chainz rolls out of the ring, tosses the timekeeper on his ass and commandeers his steel chair!
Jeff Marx: It looks like Chainz is gonna bash Darcy’s brains in with a steel chair!
Dave Kern: If he does, he’ll get disqualified!
Jeff Marx: I don’t think he gives a damn.
Mike Sloan comes back with a folded steel chair in his possession, about to beat Darcy Crisis’ head in with it! Referee Michael Ryan intervenes, telling Chainz he will disqualify him if he uses the chair. Ignoring the referee, he advances toward his bloody opponent, but referee Ryan tries to get the chair out of Chainz’s hands. Chainz shoves the referee aside, giving “D Masta C” enough time to recover. He gets to his feet, waits for Chainz to turn his attention to Darcy. As Chainz takes a step forward, Darcy lunges forward delivering a Super Kick, sending the steel chair right into Chainz’s face!
Dave Kern: Super Kick by Darcy Crisis! He kicked the chair back into Chainz’s face, and Chainz is busted open! We’re even in bloodletting in this match, ladies and gentlemen!
Steven Smith: There goes Chainz’s good looks. All the good looking people are getting uglied up in these matches, and it’s making me depressed.
Jeff Marx: You’ll get over it... fag.
After delivering the Super Kick into Chainz’s face - with a little assistance by a steel chair - he goes for the cover, hooking the leg...
ONE!
TWO!
THR-
NO! Mike Sloan kicks out! Darcy Crisis picks up Chainz, and attempts to whip him into the ropes. Chainz counters and sends Darcy into the ropes. Crisis bounces off the ropes and hurls himself at Chainz, but Chainz catches “The Darcinator” in midair, sending him over his head with a Fall-away Slam! The Swedish crowd is on their feet, jeering at Chainz...
“ASSHOLE! ASSHOLE! ASSHOLE! ASSHOLE! ASSHOLE!”
Dave Kern: Fall-away Slam by Chainz and the fans are really expressing how they feel about the most hated wrestler in AWC.
Jeff Marx: What do the fans know? Chainz is the greatest thing to happen since sliced bread!
Steven Smith: Mmm, bread. Now I want a Manwich!
Mike Sloan gets to his feet, walks over to his downed opponent and grabs a handful of hair. He whips Darcy Crisis into the ropes and catches him with a Snap Power Slam, inflicting more pain on Crisis’ back. Afterwards, he picks up “The Darcinator,” gets him up for a Power Bomb and charges into a corner, throwing Darcy into the turnbuckles!
Jeff Marx: Textbook Turnbuckle Bomb by Chainz! That was just perfect!
Dave Kern: Darcy Crisis has taken a lot of pain in his back. I don’t know how long he can last!
Chainz takes Darcy Crisis, wraps his arms around Darcy’s waist and throws him over his head with and Overhead Belly-to-Belly Suplex, sending him into the center of the ring. DC yelps in pain, arching his back. He runs over and goes for the cover, hooking the leg...
ONE!
TWO!
THR-
NO! Darcy Crisis gets the shoulder up! He will not be denied!
Dave Kern: He kicked out after the Overhead Belly-to-Belly Suplex! This kid is showing a lot of heart!
Jeff Marx: All heart and no brains. Not exactly the best combo.
Steven Smith: All cock and balls... that is exactly the best combo.
Jeff Marx: Ugh, I give up.
Chainz gets to his feet, picking up Darcy Crisis (handful of hair, of course) and sends him into a corner. With a head full of steam, he charges at Crisis, about to deliver an Avalanche Splash, but Darcy counters by stepping forward and executes a textbook Drop Toehold, sending Chainz face first into the middle turnbuckle. “D to the C” then drags Chainz into the center of the ring, steps over with a toehold and locks in a face-lock, locking in the STF!
Dave Kern: STF by Darcy Crisis and he’s pulling back on that Face-lock hard! Break his damn neck, Darcy!
Jeff Marx: First you want him to break Chainz’s arm, now you want him to break his neck, make up yo’ mind, foo’!
Steven Smith: Yeah, you silly goose, make up your mind
Darcy Crisis is pulling back on the STF, shouting at Chainz to tap out. Instead of tapping out, he picks, he breaks the step-over toehold and picks himself up, carrying almost 230 pounds on his back. He then falls backward, crushing Crisis with his 300-pound girth. He goes for the cover, hooking the leg...
ONE!
TWO!
THR-
NO! Darcy Crisis kicks out!
Dave Kern: Close call by Darcy Crisis!
Jeff Marx: Aw, c’mon, that was three!
Steven Smith: Someone’s coming onto the steel stage... It’s Mikey O’Reilly! That’s one rugged, sexy Irishman!
Jeff Marx: What the hell is he doing out here? Is he looking for another ass-kicking by Chainz? He’ll be happy to give him one!
Mikey O’Reilly is on the steel stage with his arms folded, watching the action unfold. Mike Sloan catches sight of O’Reilly and smiles at him. He mocks him, beckoning him to come down to the ring, but Mikey isn’t budging from his spot. This gives Darcy Crisis the opportunity to sneak up behind Chainz and rolls him up with the Schoolboy, and grabs a handful of jeans for good measure!
ONE!
TWO!
Kick-out by Chainz!
Jeff Marx: C’mon, ref, he was cheating! He had a handful of tights!
Dave Kern: Chainz would’ve deserved to have lost like that! Think of how he screwed Aimz out of the Frontier title!
Steven Smith: Mmm, I’d like to have a good sc---
Dave Kern & Jeff Marx: QUIET!
Darcy Crisis gets to his feet and bounces off the ropes. Mike Sloan is on his feet, ready to counter whatever Darcy is going to use. Chainz doesn’t expect the Spinning Heel Kick and catches Darcy’s foot right in his face! The fans are on their feet, chanting DC’s name!
“DC! DC! DC! DC! DC!”
Dave Kern: Spinning Heel Kick! Cover him, kid!
Darcy Crisis scrambles on top of Chainz and goes for the cover, not hooking the leg...
ONE!
TWO!
NO! Chainz kicks out!
Dave Kern: What a match we’re witnessing ladies and gentlemen! Chainz and Darcy Crisis are giving it their all, but neither man can put each other away!
Darcy Crisis kips up and looks down at his opponent. He bounces off the ropes and drops a knee across Chainz’s forehead. Afterward, he goes to a corner, climbs to the top turnbuckle and drops a elbow into Chainz’s black heart! He goes for another cover...
ONE!
TWO!
NO! Chainz gets the shoulder up and Darcy is getting frustrated. Darcy Crisis picks up Chainz, but Chainz gets the upper hand by throwing a heavy right hand into Crisis’ breadbasket. Afterwards he picks up Darcy over his head with a Gorilla Press and drives him to the mat with a slam. Chainz picks up “The Darcinator” and whips him into the ropes. After the rebound, Chainz clips Darcy in the face with his Super Kick, “Chain Link.”
Dave Kern: Chain Link Super Kick by Chainz! What great flexibility by a man his size!
Steven Smith: Gotta have great flexibility when you take me on in the bedroom!
Jeff Marx: Oh for God sakes, Steve! Knock off all the fag fantasies, will ya?!
Chainz looks over at Mikey O’Reilly, points at him and does a cutthroat sign. He walks over to Darcy Crisis and sets him up for a Power Bomb. He picks him up and gives him one of two Power Bombs. He picks him up again, and is hesitant. He starts to stagger backward but he gets his balance back. He takes a step forward and throws Darcy down with the second Power Bomb!
Jeff Marx: Chain Reaction! That’s his Double Power Bomb finisher! This match is over if he covers Crisis.
Mike Sloan doesn’t even bother to go for the pin-fall. Instead, he grabs a handful of hair (it seems to me that he has a hair fetish, doesn’t he?) and drags him one-handed to one of the corners. He pulls him to his feet, kicks him in the gut, and places Darcy Crisis over his right shoulder in a Canadian Backbreaker fashion. He turns around and climbs up the turnbuckles, keeping his back pressed against the turnbuckles. When he gets to the top turnbuckle, he raises “The Darcinator” high into the air and jumps off the top turnbuckle, driving Darcy’s back onto the mat!
Jeff Marx: SUPER BOMB! CHAINZ JUST HIT THE SUPER BOMB!
Dave Kern: Oh my God, Darcy Crisis is dead...
Mike Sloan goes for a nonchalant cover...
ONE!
TWO!
THREE!
Referee Michael Ryan calls for the bell and “Cure” by The Wild Colonials start to play as ring announcer James Brunt announces the winner...
James Brunt: The winner... CHAINZ!
Jeff Marx: Chainz has beaten that retard Darcy Crisis! I love it!
Dave Kern: This concludes this edition of Fresh! We are running out of time! I’m Dave Kern, alongside Jeff Marx and Steven Smith! See you all next week!
Steven Smith: My sexy Irishman is walking down to the ring! Keep the cameras rolling!
Jeff Marx: What is THAT moron doing?
Mikey O’Reilly is walking down to the ring, his eyes locked on Chainz. Chainz is on his feet now, waiting for Mikey to get into the ring. Unbeknownst to Chainz, “The Red Raver” Aimz enters the ring with a crowbar in her hands, looking at Chainz with murderous intentions!
Jeff Marx: Aimz has entered the ring, and by the look on her face, I don’t think she buys Chainz’s innocence plea. TURN AROUND, CHAINZ!
Dave Kern: GOOD GOD! AIMZ JUST NAILED CHAINZ IN THE BACK OF HIS HEAD WITH THE CROWBAR!
Chainz drops face first onto the mat like a ton of bricks after getting plowed in the head by Aimz. Mikey O’Reilly enters the ring, looking down at Chainz. He rolls him on his back, mounts him and throws heavy taped hands into Chainz’s face! Over and over again, throwing explosive punches in his face!
Dave Kern: Mikey O’Reilly has lost it! He’s pounding Chainz’s face in with repeated punches in the face! Blood is flying everywhere! Chainz is getting exactly what he deserves!
Jeff Marx: How can you condone this, Dave?
Dave Kern: How can I not condone it?! Chainz has been a cancer ever since he entered AWC and now the cancer is going to be removed from the AWC!
Mikey O’Reilly picks up Chainz and throws him at Aimz, where she almost takes Chainz’s head off with a vicious shot to the head with the crowbar! She is screaming in his face, giving him repeated blows to the head. A few moments later, Tracy Stanton runs down to the ring, tears streaming down her face.
Jeff Marx: What’s Tracy doing? She’s gonna get herself hurt!
Dave Kern: Perhaps a crowbar shot to the head will smarten that girl up and realize what kind of man Chainz really is!
Tracy is outside of the ring, pleading with both Mikey O’Reilly and Aimz to leave Chainz alone. Chainz weakly waves her off, telling her to leave, but she stands her ground. O’Reilly pulls Chainz to his feet, telling Aimz to hold him. Aimz raises her eyebrows and brushes him off.
Jeff Marx: Ha, even Aimz is above teaming with that stupid Irishman!
Dave Kern: I thought they agreed…?
Aimz smashes her heel into Chainz’ jaw in a flash, giving O’Reilly a challenging glare before sliding out of the ring.
Dave Kern: Chainz is not moving! Chainz got everything he deserved in that ring! Aimz with the shot! And look at Tracy, going to her man.
Steven Smith: She makes me sick! Why can’t she see what kind of man Chainz is?
Jeff Marx: He must have a fucking big penis.
Dave Kern: Tune in next week for Aimz and Ellis Nash for the Frontier title in an enclosed steel cage!
Mikey O’Reilly leaves the ring. Aimz helps her boyfriend out as Tracy looks at her own beaten and bloody boyfriend. She cradles his head to her bosom, rocking back and forth, crying...