Fresh! Results22nd November 2005
Introduction
FEATURING: DAVE KERN, JEFF MARX, STEVEN SMITH
AUTHOR: PIERRE HYDE
The screen goes to black then fizzles to life suddenly, the letters “AWC” flashing across in a brilliant white light. A moment of silence dominates, then, backed by “Way Away” by Yellowcard, images of AWC's superstars appear, one after the other. The guitar plays softly first, then goes straight into a strong, powerful riff.
I think I'm breaking out
I'm gonna leave you now
There's nothing for me here
It's all the same
Pierce Lavelle is shown delivering his Whiplash finisher on Paddy O’Shea and then holding aloft the Transatlantic title, which he currently holds in his second reign. A pulsating white light continually lights up the screen, with shots of many AWC superstars in action being shown: Jack Murphy, Paddy O'Shea, Chainz.
And even though I know
That everything might go
Go downhill from here
I'm not afraid
AWC Triangles 2005 highlights now cycle as the song moves into its chorus. Mike Wade sliding down a ladder on the side of the pyramid to knock Alexa Kendericks to the floor; Pierce Lavelle's Whiplash on Adam Dick smashing open the hatch in the cage wall; Jack Murphy's leaping Bull Charge off a ladder to fell Tim Shipley from the roof of the golden triangle.
Way away, away from here I'll be
Away, away, away, so you can see
How it feels to be alone and not believe
Feels to be alone and not believe
Anything
Dave Kern: HELLO AND WELCOME TO THE ATLANTIC WRESTLING CLUB!
Jeff Marx: Remind me to fire my agent!
Steven Smith: Finally, another forum to push my gay agenda!
Dave Kern: If you missed the news earlier this week, AWC's new East Atlantic announce team comprises myself, Dave Kern, and my two colleagues Steven Smith and Jeff Marx!
Steven Smith: AKA, the PCW legends.
Jeff Marx: I still can't believe I signed this contract. I must've been high.
Dave Kern: LADIES AND GENTLEMEN, THE KERN-MARX-SMITH THREESOME IS BACK ON AIR!
Steven Smith: hreesome?!?! Did someone say threesome?!
Dave sighs.
Dave Kern: Fresh! is packed tonight, with five great matches lined up -
Jeff Marx: (interrupting) Featuring a bunch of nobodies, has-beens and never-will-bes.
Dave Kern: (sighing) Bear with us, fans, as the three of us jump right in at the deep end with tonight's show. We barely know the names on the roster so forgive us if our commentary is a little ragged at times...
Jeff Marx: It's nothing to worry about: that's normal.
Dave Kern: So without further ado...
Losing Patience
FEATURING: JACK MURPHY, DAVID "PEARL" HARBER
AUTHOR: FERGUS
Jeff Marx: Sssh Dave, we're watching something now.
Dave Kern: What?
Steven Smith: We're going...behind the stage! Ooh it tickles!
Jeff Marx: Oh come on! Just shut up.
The camera is indeed backstage and is fading into Pearl Harber's office. He's sitting calmly at his plain wooden desk and is writing a little notation to himself when there's a knock of the door. Harber is about to respond to it when whomever decided to knock forgot about waiting.
Pearl: Oh...it's you.
???: Don't look so surprised Pearl, didn't you expect your future Grand Slam champion to make an appearance?
Dave Kern: Ah, it's Jack Murphy.
Jeff Marx: This should at least keep me awake.
Whilst Marx tries washing his tongue out (which of course means Smith tries to help out with his own) 'The Bull' Jack Murphy strides in cockily, his plain black t-shirt as usual displaying his trademark 'I'm...as good as it GETS!' and the Livewire championship held proudly over his shoulder. A new addition to the Irishman's attire however is the very briefcase that he received for his success at Triangles. Murphy has the grin of a fat cat, greedy for more.
Pearl: What do you want?
Jack Murphy: Oh nothing much...just thought I'd gloat a little, flash my spoils of war as it were.
Pearl: Well then...get out.
Jack Murphy: I'm sorry, did you really think you have a choice in this meeting? I'm staying until I've said my piece you feebleminded little seal.
Dave Kern: Seal?
Jeff Marx: It's his name for all the easily manipulated fools...just like you Dave.
Steven Smith: I like...
Kern and Marx: Don't!
Harber has taken on a look of incredulity and just stands, unable to respond. Murphy takes it all in his stride, tugging lightly on his beard and placing down the briefcase on the desk.
Jack Murphy: Now Pearl...I can call you Pearl can't I? Of course I can, why am I even asking? You see Pearl...ever since I've arrived here I've given you multiple chances to prove to me that you are serious about my talent. I've not only talked to you about this...I've shown you. So why I'm here, is to ask; why the HELL am I wasting away with some idiot of a woman in the ring?
Dave Kern: He likes talking doesn't he?
Jeff Marx: Sssh! You're interrupting the saviour of professional wrestling!
Pearl: Do I even need to remind you that that title saddled over your shoulder has to be defended? And I am giving people whom I feel have earned a shot at it.
Jack Murphy: Who you feel have earned it? Oh dear Pearl, oh dear...you're missing the point. YOU are holding me back now. I can appreciate you got a bit scared when you saw how close I got to that title at Triangles. Admit, you were scared, weren't you?
Pearl: What are you...
Jack Murphy: Shut up. I'm here to...let you know that I'm not happy with your continued ignorance to me. I'm not just unhappy, I'm pissed off Pearl. You don't need me to be pissed off because believe me, once I get pissed off, there's no telling what I'll do. It's not just this though...you're seriously giving Noble that big a contract.
Pearl: He's bringing...
Jack Murphy: (angrily) Didn't I tell you to shut up! I'm not looking for answers!
Dave Kern: Stop asking questions then!
Jeff Marx: Would you shut up as well! I'm trying to hear The Bull talk!
Pearl is now getting decidedly flustered now, his tolerance at such an arrogant wrestler - someone he employed no less - is treating him in such a disrespectful manner.
Jack Murphy: I don't care what pathetic reason you can give. I have proven time and time again how important I am to this company and you have given me nothing but disrespect. Noble is another slight on your name Harber and you are only proving your ignorance of actual talent. Be careful of how you treat me...don't forget about this.
'The Bull' pats the briefcase in front of him.
Jack Murphy: This entitles me to a shot at every single championship in this organisation. Need I remind you that these contracts are binding and cannot be broken, you yourself made sure of that. So don't mess around with me Harber...or one morning you're going to wake up with me having taken your precious Transatlantic title with my shot...and it'll turn up somewhere you most definitely would not like.
Dave Kern: Is he seriously proposing what I think he is?
Jeff Marx: If he is...I love it!
Murphy picks up the briefcase and heads to the door, stopping to give one last parting shot.
Jack Murphy: Oh and Pearl? Just you wait till next week. I'm tired of playing by your rules...it's my turn now.
Without another word Jack Murphy leaves the office, Pearl Harber slamming the desk in frustration after that entire episode.
Dave Kern: 'The Bull' standing strong in this company and my God is anyone going to stop him?
Jeff Marx: No! BWAHAHAHAAHAHA!
Destination: Destiny
FEATURING: RACE ALEXANDER, CONNIE
AUTHOR: RON
The scene opens in the covered parking area of the Telewest Arena, as a handsome cab comes to a halt. The back door of the cab opens up, and out steps a broad-shouldered, handsome man in his early 30’s with wavy, shoulder length brown hair. He is dressed in a pair of jeans, a simple black T-shirt and carries a gym bag.
After exiting the vehicle, he stops for a moment and looks at the backdoors of the arena, bustling with workers taking items in and out of the arena for tonight’s show, security officials and fans, hoping to catch a glimpse of their favorite superstars. After taking in the scene for a moment, he takes a deep breath, exhales, then smiles.
Silently nodding to himself, his wait is over. Finally, after all his years of hard work, bad breaks and injuries, he has made it.
“AHEM!”
His quiet moment of satisfaction is shattered by the sound of a forced cough from the interior of the cab.
The unknown grappler turns back to the vehicle and extends his hand through the door, to aid an attractive, large-breasted woman, in her thirties with bleached-blonde hair. She is wearing a tight, low-cut, white blouse with the name Connie stitched across it’s front in black cursive lettering, a pair of form fitting black Capri pants, and a black pair 4” high heels. A large, black, patent leather Prada bag finishes off the ensemble.
She takes a last drag off a cigarette, tosses it to the ground, then grinds the life out of it with her heel, before grabbing her man by the arm. The pair of them look up at the lit billboard of the arena off in the distance, which reads.
“November 22nd! Atlantic Wrestling Club's Fresh! LIVE!”
Connie tears up a bit with emotion, then pulls close to the man’s error and whispers.
Connie: (quietly) Race, baby, we made it…. (choked up with emotion) ….We finally made it.
The man nods his head in agreement, and looks into Connie’s eyes. She looks down to both avoid his gaze and hide her watery eyes, but he gently pushes her chin back up so he can look at her.
Race Alexander: We’re here, but just being here is not enough.
Connie bits her bottom lip, and nods in agreement.
Connie: I know… But, baby, now everyone around the world will learn what I have known from day one. Its just a matter of time until the name Race Alexander is a household name.
Connie’s mood suddenly turns less emotional and more serious. She looks into Race’s eyes and pokes her finger into his chest.
Connie: (sounding motivational) Now that you finally have your shot, you are going to be a superstar. You have it all. The look. The skill. The charisma…
Race Alexander: (interrupting) A partner that has stood by him for close to 13 years…
Connie’s motivational façade is quickly dispelled, as her eyes well with tears of joy once again. Race wipes away a tear then draws her close.
Race Alexander: (quietly) I wouldn’t be here without you.
Connie nods, uncomfortably accepting his praise. Her eyes turn serious, as she reaches up and grabs him by the chin.
Connie: (sharply) Enough of this crap. You are the future of this company and the future of this industry! Tonight, finally, fans around the world will exposed to the greatness that is Race Alexander.
Race smiles confidently and nods.
Connie: I know it, you know it and David Harber must know it, or he wouldn’t have you slated you to walk down the aisle tonight, climb into that ring, and call for a microphone to proclaim your presence to all of the fans in this arena, those watching from home around the world and the other wrestlers in the back.
Race Alexander: (scoffing) Considering the news of my signing was a footnote in the PR department’s massive press release announcing the new deal the company cut with that dinosaur Johnny Noble, I was surprised that I was given any airtime at all.
Connie sighs.
Connie: Stop letting the lack of the press release get to you. Putting out a press release about your signing would only mean something to the fans that have been lucky enough to see you during your 13 years on the independent scene. Harber knows that letting the fans and wrestlers see and hear you is the best way for them to come to know, love and, most importantly, respect you.
Race looks towards the door, and extends his arm out.
Race Alexander: Shall we?
Connie smiles, and hooks Race’s arm, then make their way into the arena.
Race Alexander has arrived.
The Weird Gets Weirder
FEATURING: CHAINZ, ALEXA KENDERICKS
AUTHOR: MIKE S., KRIS
We cut back to the backstage as field hands walk back and forth, fidgeting with lights and sound systems. Alexa Kendericks is seen walking backstage with a bottle of water in her hand. She is slightly limping from the brutal attack that she sustained from Chainz at Triangles. She walks along a corridor until she reaches her locker room. As she is about to open the door she hears something from within. She parts the door slightly so that she can look in.
She peers in and sees the object of her recent anguish inside, but something is different. Chainz is standing with his back to the door and Alexa. He is standing in front of a mirror looking at himself. Alexa looks down and sees her gym bag lying on the ground, having been rummaged through.
She looks up and sees Chainz wearing her clothes. He has half of each of his giant feet in her high heels. He is wearing one of Alexa’s skirts and one of her sports bras. It isn’t even close to being able to strap, but he still has it on. He also has a wig on his head and is applying lipstick as he looks in the mirror.
Chainz: (In a womanly tone) Hi, I’m Alexa Kendericks, and you are?
Chainz: My name is Chainz and may I say that you’re looking very lovely today.
Chainz: (In a womanly tone) Why thank you, would you like to come and fuck me?
Chainz: You know what, you read my mind. What kind of a girl are you?
Chainz: (In a womanly tone) Oh honey, you can do anything you want to me. I can take it all.
Chainz: You sure about that, I’m pretty loaded.
Chainz places one of his hands in his pants and begins to fondle himself. It was seen that the hand had painted fingernails on it.
Chainz: (In a womanly tone) Trust me, I’ve had my share of big boys in my days.
Chainz: Yeah, what about that tight sweet ass of yours? It open for business too?
Chainz: (In a womanly tone) You an anal aficionado?
Chainz: I do seem to enjoy sodomizing young ladies like yourself. The tighter the better.
Chainz: (In a womanly tone) Well, I don’t normally open up for anyone, but I think I can let you in.
Chainz: I have to warn, the last girl I fucked up the ass couldn’t sit for days and left my dick red. Made her suck it clean though.
Chainz: (In a womanly tone) Oh, you’re rough aren’t you. Well don’t worry big boy, you can pound me all night long. I’ll take it and I’ll clean you off too, I’ll even swallow.
Chainz: Damn, you know just what to say.
Chainz leans in and kisses the mirror, leaving a lipstick stain on the mirror. Chainz starts licking the mirror while still fondling himself.
Alexa gasps inadvertently causing Chainz to hear. He spins around and Alexa sees the full horror of the situation. Chainz has lipstick, blush, eye shadow, the whole works on his face, but the odd thing is the make up is only on half of his face, while the other half is normal.
Chainz: You, come here!
Alexa screams as she runs for her life. Chainz busts out of the locker room and chases Alexa down the hall. She is much faster as Chainz is in high heels and dressed in women’s clothing. He gives up after about fifty feet and returns to Alexa’s locker room.
Chainz: Oh you’ll get yours baby, and I’ll get me some.
Chainz pulls out a picture of Alexa out of his pocket. He tapes it to the mirror and kisses it a few times. Chainz places his hand down his pants again and begins stroking himself. He shuts the door.
Acey Lavado vs Andy Murray
STIPULATION: SINGLES
REFEREE: JOSEPH REID
AUTHOR: JASON LINK
The lights go down, and the crowd go quiet. The beginning of the song fades in the quietly. Then gets louder. Green Lasers, that point in different direction. Fog machines set on opposite sides of the runway, and entrance begin to spit fog. A white strobe light flashes behind Saint. All you can see is the shadow. The song slows down, and the lights turn off.
James Brunt: The following is a singles match. First, approaching the ring, from New Castle, Pennsylvania, weighing in at 237 pounds... "THE SAINT" ACEY LAVADO!
Jeff Marx: Who?
Dave Kern: A bright young up and coming talent, that's who Jeff. He's only eighteen years old and what better place to make a name than the AWC?
Jeff Marx: I see we're already kissing ass Kern?
Steven Smith: Speaking of ass…
Jeff Marx: …can we not gay this place up yet, we've only been here for five minutes.
Saint runs to the stage. When the song picks up again. Pink and Purple pyrotechnics shoots from ringside. Saint is in the ring in the center. The words 'Hate. Kill. Feed. Repeat' flash on the screen. Then the songs fades out and the lights turn on. After about three seconds or so, a voice can be heard over the p.a. system.
The lights in the arena dim as the intro to “Hand Of Blood” by Bullet For My Valentine begins to play out across the arena. With a burst of pyro at the top of the ramp, the song kicks in and the lights flash on, as Andy Murray steps out from the back, lapping up the crowd's cheers. He pauses at the top of the ramp, takes a good look around the arena, and lifts an arm in the air in jubilance, before making his way down the ramp.
James Brunt: And his opponent. Making his way to the ring, from Aberdeen, Scotland, weighing in at 270 pounds... "THE SCOTTISH KING OF COOL", ANDY MURRAY!
On his way down to the ring, Andy Murray slaps hands with a couple of the fans, before finally reaching the bottom of the ramp, and leaping up onto the outside of the ring. Facing the entrance, he raises an arm up in the air once again, as white pyros ignite from the ring posts behind him.
Dave Kern: What a great way to start off Fresh! this week, with the Scottish King of Cool himself, Andy Murray. This will undoubtedly be a test for the newcomer Lavado.
Jeff Marx: Didn’t this guy used to stink up the PWA and PCW? All these toothless bastards over here look alike.
Dave Kern: You just don't like anybody do you?
Jeff Marx: Yes I do. Chicks that put out...
Dave Kern: Shhh!
I tried to drive all through the night, the heart stroke ridden weather
The barren empty sights…
No oasis here to see, the sand is singing deathless words to me.
As the fireworks die down a little, Murray enters the ring between the middle and top ropes and paces across the ring, throwing both arms into the air for the fans at the other side.
Can't you help me as I'm startin' to burn?
Too many doses and I'm startin' to get an attraction
My confidence is leavin' me on my own
Too late to save me and you know I don't want the attention
Finally, the music begins to die down, as Murray stands in the center of the ring, ready to go. The bell sounds and immediately, Lavado and Murray lock up in the center of the ring.
Dave Kern: And here we go guys. Great to be back doing what we love huh?
Steven Smith: …huh? Oh sorry…hey, who's that referee?
Dave Kern: His name is Joseph Reid…why?
Jeff Marx: Oh I'll tell you why…little Stevie over here wants to play…
Dave Kern: This is a family show Jeff!
Steven Smith: Kids need to learn about the birds and the bees too!
Jeff Kern: Or in your case, the birds and the birds. Actually, which way around is it?
Murray eventually overpowers Lavado and throws him down to the mat. The crowd gets behind him as Murray showboats a little bit. Lavado gets up quickly though, and charges forward, pushing Murray and forcing him back a step or two.
Dave Kern: And I think that is Lavado's way of showing that he will not be outdone by the Scot.
Murray nods his head, charging forward and going for a clothesline. He bounces off the ropes and comes back, where Lavado goes for a clothesline of his own. This time Murray ducks and goes off the ropes again, coming back and charging Lavado with a shoulder block that knocks the smaller man to the ground. The crowd gets behind Murray, as he quickly drops an elbow across Lavado's chest. He gets up again, this time dropping a knee right across the jaw of Lavado. Lavado sits up a little bit, holding his jaw, but is pushed right back down by Murray, who hooks his leg and hopes for a quick pin. Referee Reid gets in position and makes the count.
ONE!
Lavado kicks out with some authority, actually moving the two hundred and seventy pound man off of him.
Dave Kern: And only a one count there as Lavado shows off some power.
Jeff Marx: So we have a choice between a PCW dark show mainstay and a druggie. This place (feigning enthusiam) RULES~!
Dave sighs.
Murray gets up and helps Lavado back to his feet. He hooks Lavado's arm over his head and attempts to lift him up, perhaps going for the Highland Hangover already, but Lavado kicks his legs and fights out of it. Lavado lands back on his feet and kicks Murray in the gut. Murray bends over, and Acey tries to capitalize by hooking Murray's arms, maybe looking to go for Blasphemizer, but Murray counters with a back body drop. Lavado gets back to his feet and rushes Murray, who greets him with a poke to the eyes. The crowd laughs a little bit as Lavado backs off now.
Jeff Marx: Oh that's cheating! Kern, call that cheating right now!
Dave Kern: Well…it is bending the rules a little bit.
Jeff Marx: Yeah but if someone like Adam Dick did it, you'd be all over him.
Steven Smith: I’d be all over him, regardless of the situation. Dick may be the Illustrious Face-Eater, but I am the Illustrious Head -
Dave Kern: (enraged) ALRIGHT! THAT IS QUITE ENOUGH!
Lavado charges forward once more, and ducks underneath the attempted big boot from Murray. Before Murray can turn around, Lavado grabs him around the neck, then wraps his leg around Murray's, delivering a Russian leg sweep. Murray holds his neck, as Lavado doesn't waste any time in going to the middle rope. He waits patiently for Murray to get up, and when he does, he leaps off of the ropes, landing on Murray's back in a sitting position that drives Murray down to the canvas hard.
Jeff Marx: What a move by Lavado! Look at the way he drove Murray's forehead into the mat!
Dave Kern: Well he calls that one the Barstool, and it is definitely a dangerous move.
Steven Smith: Where have I seen that position before?
Lavado rolls a dazed Murray over onto his back, hooking his leg and going for a cover.
ONE!
TWO!
Murray kicks out shortly after the two count by Joseph Reid. Murray blinks a few times to try and shake the cobwebs, but Lavado is right on him with an elbow to the top of Murray's head, followed by wrapping him in a headlock. Lavado cinches in the hold as Murray reaches out towards the ropes with his hands, but has no possibility of reaching them. The crowd gets behind Murray once more as he starts pounding his foot down on the mat, hoping that the audience will get him pumped. It seems to be working, as Murray fights his way back to his feet. As soon as he is up though, Lavado kicks him in the back of the knee. With Murray down on one knee, Lavado bounces off of the ropes, but Murray gets up immediately and delivers a bone crunching sidewalk slam.
The crowd explodes as Lavado hits the mat hard, and Murray rolls over on his back to catch his breath.
Dave Kern: What a move by Murray to allow him to catch his breath.
Steven Smith: Well he certainly has taken my breath away!
Jeff Marx: Kern, why must you add fuel to the fire?
Both competitors are still down, but Murray is rolling around a little bit. Lavado is slow to get up, as Murray starts to sit up as well. Lavado is the first person to his feet, but Murray is quick to follow. Lavado hits Murray with a right hand, but Murray just fights back with one of his own. It stuns Lavado a bit, but he comes right back with another right. Murray turns his head, then unleashes another right hand that connects with the side of Lavado's jaw. Lavado turns back around and this time, jumps in the air and hits Murray with a knee across the face.
It backs Murray into the corner, and Lavado gets up to his feet. He rushes Murray with a series of rights and lefts, almost knocking Murray off his feet, but the bigger man manages to stay up. Lavado tries to finish it off by driving his knee into Andy's crotch, but the attempt is blocked. Murray pushes Lavado to the ground, still keeping hold of his knee. He turns Lavado around and locks in a Half Boston Crab. The fans cheer once more as the referee gets down in position to see if Lavado gives up. Lavado's face is etched in pain, but he shakes his head and screams out 'NO!' Lavado gets on his hands, starting to crawl closer to the ropes. Murray tries to pull him back, but it's too late, as Lavado gets his arms around the bottom rope.
Jeff Marx: Yes! Murray doesn't get the win!
Dave Kern: Oh, way to be impartial Jeff.
Jeff Marx: Like you are…you hate this kid with the stupid first name.
Dave Kern: It's Acey, and no I don't. I think he's holding his own rather well in there.
Jeff Marx: He's probably pumped up on Crystal Meth, that's why!
Dave Kern: Must you find fault in anyone?
Jeff Marx: Yes. It's why God put me on this earth.
Dave sighs.
The referee makes Murray break the hold, which he does reluctantly. Lavado grabs his knee, but Murray gives him absolutely zero time to recover. He picks Acey back up to his feet and hoists him up in a fireman's carry position. Lavado hammers a few forearms across Murray's face though, forcing the larger man to drop him behind his back. Lavado grabs Murray around the waist, lifting him up in a German Suplex, but with the back of Murray's head hitting the ropes, making him bounce back and land hard on his neck. The crowd let's out a loud 'OHH!' sound, as they eventually begin to cheer the move itself.
Dave Kern: OH MY GOD!
Steven Smith: That…did not look so good. I hope Andy's alright!
Lavado turns around and drags Murray away from the ropes, going for a cover.
ONE! TWO! THR-
NO! Murray gets a shoulder up before Reid's hand can go down for the third time. Lavado looks up to the referee, then to the fans. A little bit frustrated, he walks over to the corner and crouches down, looking to hit Murray with The Crucificture when he turns around. Murray gets up slowly, using the ropes to pull himself up. The crowd tries to tell him to turn around, but it gets lost in translation and just sounds like one big commotion. Perhaps Andy got the hint though, because when he turned around and saw the charging Lavado, he managed to side step out of the way. Lavado stopped short of ramming his own shoulder into the post, but when he turned around, he was greeted with a knee to the gut. Murray quickly hooks his arm around Lavado's head and lifts him up in the air. Without hesitation, he brings him down with a side brainbuster as the fans explode.
Dave Kern: There's the Highland Hangover! Murray planted him!
Jeff Marx: Yeah I saw it Kern…
Murray turns over and manages to grab Lavado's leg, rolling on his back as Reid makes the count.
ONE!
TWO!
THREE!
The crowd goes nuts once more as the bell sounds to signify the end of the match. Murray rolls back off of Lavado, sitting up a little bit and weakly raising his arm in the air.
James Brunt: Ladies and gentlemen, the winner of the match… "The Scottish King of Cool" ANDY MURRAY!
He finally gets to his feet as the crowd continues to cheer him on. He rolls down on the ground and underneath the ropes, hitting the arena floor as Lavado finally moves around in the ring.
Dave Kern: What a match, and an impressive showing by Acey Lavado, despite the loss.
Jeff Marx: Would have been more impressive if he won…
Steven Smith: He impressed me though Jeffrey. He's got a nice little backside, if I do say so myself.
Jeff Marx: Why did we have to bring him back Dave?
Dave Kern: Oh stop complaining, we just saw a great match, and a great win by Andy Murray.
With Pen In Hand
FEATURING: JOHNNY NOBLE
AUTHOR: RON
Dave Kern: I am getting word that a limousine has pulled up to the backstage area.
Jeff Marx: Hopefully to get me out of this shithole arena, away from these scab-covered fans, and out of this God-forsaken country.
Dave sighs.
Dave Kern: Let’s head to the back lot and see what the commotion is all about.
The scene shifts to the backstage area, and Dave was telling the truth. There is indeed a limo just coming to a halt. The chauffer, steps out of the driver’s side, walks to the back of the vehicle, then opens the door. After a brief moment, “Mr. Incredible” Johnny Noble steps out of the vehicle, with a pen in hand.
The crowd in the arena, obviously watching the scene unfold on the arena’s big screen, explodes.
Dave Kern: THAT’S JOHNNY NOBLE! HE IS HERE TO SIGN A NEW DEAL WITH AWC TONIGHT!
Jeff yawns.
Noble looks at the camera, and feigns a signature with the pen, winks, then makes his way into the arena.
Dave Kern: That gives us something to look forward to later on tonight!
Steven Smith: Speaking of later on tonight…
Dave Kern: (interrupting) JUST DON’T!
The sound of Jeff ‘mock-snoring’ can be heard, as the scene shifts elsewhere.
Snubbed
FEATURING: RACE ALEXANDER, CONNIE, DAVID "PEARL" HARBER
AUTHOR: RON
David “Pearl” Harber rushes down a hall past staffers and security personnel, with a clipboard in hand. He rounds a corner, only to run headlong into AWC newcomers Race Alexander, now dressed in his wrestling tights, and his valet, Connie.
Race Alexander: (smiling) Mr. Harber!
Race reaches out and shakes Harber’s hand.
Race Alexander: I just want to thank you again for the contract and for the airtime tonight. I really appreciate it.
Connie smiles and nods in agreement with Race, as she rapidly chews away at some bubble gum and twirls her recently donned hot pink boa in her hand.
Pearl: (smiling, though still seeming rushed) You’re welcome on the contract. It’s a long time overdue in my opinion. About your promo tonight…
Race Alexander: (interrupting) Yeah, yeah. I have given it a lot of thought and, you know, I am not a catch phrase or gimmick kind of guy. I call it like it is. So I am thinking that tonight, Connie and I will march out to the ring, give the folks a little bit of history about us, and put everyone in the back on notice that I have arrived. I even brought a little video of my highlights in other promotions.
Race hands Harber a DVD. Harber looks at it uncomfortably.
Race Alexander: What do you think?
Pearl: (sympathetically) Ya see, that’s the thing. I’m sorry, but I gotta bump your in-ring from the show tonight. I had to make time for Johnny Noble’s in-ring contract extension signing…
Harber looks at his watch then begins to continue on his way.
Pearl: (holding up his clipboard) Speaking of time, I gotta make these changes for later on in the show. Sorry about the delay in your debut. We’ll see about getting you in there next week.
Harber moves past the obviously stunned and disappointed pair and continues on his way.
Race Alexander: (stunned/monotone) Sure.
Connie stops chewing her gum as her face curls into an open-mouthed scowl. She turns around, and watches Harber disappear down the hall, then lights up a cigarette and takes an angry puff.
Connie: What the [bleep]! That’s bull[bleep!]
Race’s jaw tightens with anger.
Race Alexander: You know, I should have guessed something like this would happen. Ironclaw Jackson told me it was going to be like this on the big show. The “so-called” superstars/old-timers are gonna hog all the airtime, and the up and comers are left to fight for the scraps.
Connie: (still angrily puffing away on her cigarette) Well, he was right!
Race Alexander: (clenching his fist) You know what else Ironclaw Jackson told me. Sometimes you need to make your own time, and your own breaks. I’ve waited too long for this opportunity. For 13 years, no-talent hacks like Johnny Noble have blocked me out of fear that losing their station….
Race clenches his fist.
Race Alexander: …Well, those days are over.
Connie looks at Race with a look of curiosity and worry.
Connie: Oh, baby, don’t start any trouble… We just got here.
Race points to himself.
Race Alexander: (feigning innocence) Who me?
Eastern Invasion I
FEATURING: ???, BODYGUARD
AUTHOR: PIERRE HYDE
The night is dark, the streets are busy; London is the city of a million lights. Car horns, vehicle exhausts and total gridlock don’t provide the ideal environment for the glamorous-looking woman who exits the limousine.
Her blonde hair is expertly curled and arranged in a shoulder-length cut. Her long beige trenchcoat gives off twin auras of confidence and dominance – they often come as a pair. As she turns her head to coolly thank the driver and pass him his tip, we catch sight of a pale face, perhaps older than we expected. She’s in her forties, maybe fifties, but even from this fleeting glimpse we can tell that fifteen or twenty years ago she was quite the beauty.
Her bodyguard leads her up the three stone steps, which she takes with dignified grace, gathering up her coat so as not to let it drag on the dirty London pavement. They come up against some glass doors, and the lady steps forward, impatient, expecting them to open for her. The bodyguard shakes his head, telling her they aren’t automatic, and steps to his right to hit the call button as she rolls her eyes.
Lady: What is the time?
Her voice is quiet yet commanding, but what is most striking is the accent. Eastern European certainly, perhaps Russian. She barks out her request and the bodyguard fumbles for his wristwatch at once, dropping everything to follow orders as directly and swiftly as possible.
Bodyguard: Ten past nine, Ms Volkyeva.
Her name is pronounced “Vol-key-ay-ver” by the man who is clearly a long-time employee of hers, trusted; his voice has a similar accent to it – clipped and harsh. She nods her head, satisfied, and just then, the intercom crackles into life.
Voice Through Intercom: Atlantic Wrestling Club, London headquarters. What can I do for you?
The bodyguard looks to his client curiously. Evidently, they thought they were expected. Perhaps the details of her visit had been distributed only on a need-to-know basis, they reflect. It wouldn’t have been the most sensible choice, since her personal cameraman is recording every moment on film for transmission on AWC’s show this Tuesday... or Wednesday? Whichever. She isn’t sure. She doesn’t care.
Bodyguard: She is here.
The Furious Fists Of God vs T.T.S
STIPULATION: DUO TAG
REFEREE: SELENA SUMNER
AUTHOR: MIKE S.
Dave Kern: Sorry about the extended break folks, the match is already in progress.
Jeff Marx: Never apologize for doing people a favor, Kern.
Dave sighs, then continues.
Dave Kern: Well, The Fists have the upper hand, but this match is far from over. Now what did we just see on the big screen, I wonder?
Jeff Marx: Kind of obvious... a Russian blonde at AWC HQ in London.
Dave Kern: But what does it MEAN...?
Jeff Marx: It means a gimmick that has been completely done to death is gonna get a run in AWC...?
The scene shifts to the announce table, where Dave, Steven and Jeff all shrug, then nod in unison.
Tim Martin and Harry are the two men in the ring. They exchange punches until Tim Martin gets the better of the two and knocks Harry down. He palms his face, picks him up, and plants him with a spine buster.
Jeff Marx: Yes, there’s the eagle’s claw on Harry. Martin with the pin.
Selena Sumner drops for the count.
ONE!
TWO!
Dave Kern: No, kick out by Harry.
Steven Smith: That was a nice looking pin there by Tim Martin.
Jeff Marx: You homo.
Steven Smith: Yeah, you’d know too.
Dave Kern: Come on guys, you’re missing a good match.
Jeff Marx: Match? There is wrestling going on here?
Dave sighs.
Tim Martin tags in Liam Martin who immediately goes to work on a hurt Harry. He picks him up and knocks him down with a short arm clothesline. He immediately punches him square in his throat.
Dave Kern: Oh, what a vile shot by that racist.
Jeff Marx: Just because we are in the land of tooth-decay and ugly women, doesn’t mean you need to begin adding the word “vile” to your vocabulary. Wicked, nasty, huge, crushing…
Dave Kern: (annoyed) Moving on.
Liam, almost as if he heard Marx, goes back and repeats the blow to Harry, who spits up some blood from his mouth. Liam walks away with a grin on his face as he tags in his partner, Tim.
Jeff Marx: The Furious Fists of God working brilliantly together, what a team.
Steven Smith: Two big white monsters going to town.
Jeff Marx: Your fantasy huh?
Steven Smith: You know it.
Dave Kern: Ugghhh.
Tim rushes at Harry who is back on his feet. Harry ducks a vicious clothesline and goes to tag his partner John. John rushes in and tackles Tim down to the ground and begins throwing punches. Tim throws him off and gets back up to the ground. He charges at John who plants him with a massive spine buster.
Dave Kern: Oh, massive spine buster. He may have broken his back right there.
Jeff Marx: Luck, that’s all there is to it.
Dave Kern: John goes for the pin.
ONE!
Dave Kern: Kick out by Tim Martin. That was a quick kick out, the impact must not have been as bad as it looked.
John tag Harry back in who tries to pick up Tim Martin, but gets a poke to the eyes for his trouble.
Jeff Marx: Excellent strategy there by Tim Martin.
Dave Kern: I guess you can call cheating that.
Jeff Marx: He was just improvising, that’s all.
Tim goes for the powerbomb, but instead flips Harry over his head.
Jeff Marx: THE CONFESSIONAL! Hell yeah.
Dave Kern: What a move.
Steven Smith: That was an awfully bad fall he took.
Jeff Marx: Brilliant insight there.
Steven Smith: You know what f…
Dave Kern: Whoa whoa whoa, lets just cool it.
Instead of going for the pin Tim Martin tags in his brother Liam. Liam lifts a limp Harry and whips him into the corner. He charges in and is met with an elbow to the face. He regroups and charges again with the same result. Harry charges out of the corner and knocks Tim down with a clothesline. Harry drops a knee right across the face of Tim and goes for the pin.
ONE!
TWO!
Tim Martin kicks out and looks more annoyed than hurt. Harry goes over to his corner and tags in John. John comes in and drops an elbow and locks in an arm bar. Tim begins crawling to the ropes, but than decides against it. He rolls around and puts John on his back. Tim uses all his might to try and lift John in the air, but it’s too much weight. John lets go of the arm bar however and the two men are back to their feet.
Dave Kern: Back to where they started.
Steven Smith: Guess they got tired of rolling around.
Jeff Marx: Could you be any gayer?
Steven Smith: Actually, I could.
Dave Kern: Calm down children.
Tim gets the upper hand and knocks John down to the ground. Feeling a bit winded Tim walks over to his corner and tags in Liam. John takes the chance to tag in Harry. The two fresh men square off in the middle of the ring exchanging punches. Liam ducks a clothesline and grips Harry’s head. Liam clenches his head before slamming it violently down on the mat. Harry’s head bounces off the mat as Liam drops for the count.
ONE!
TWO!
Jeff Marx: The Lord’s Anger but it’s not enough. Come on Liam, finish this fool.
Liam stands up with a bit of a scowl on his face. He picks Harry up and whips him into the ropes. Liam lifts Harry in the air and drops his neck on the ropes. Harry holds his neck as he lays on the mat in pain.
Jeff Marx: YES, THE HAIL MARY! COVER HIM!
Liam goes for the cover, but it is immediately broken up by John.
Jeff Marx: What a shady move by the second member of T.T.S.
Dave Kern: What the hell are you talking about?
Jeff Marx: Never mind, Tim’s in the ring now.
Tim Martin rushes in and knocks John down. He places his head between his legs and lifts him up and lands The Lord’s Wish, incapacitating John in the process. Tim rolls John out of the ring and picks up Harry. He whips Harry right at Liam who spins and connects with The Fist Of God.
Dave Kern: OH MY GOD, FIST OF GOD! THIS ONE’S OVER!
Jeff Marx: Yes! Cover him!
Liam drops for the count as Selena Sumner drops for the count.
ONE!
TWO!
THREE!
James Brunt: The winners... THE FURIOUS FISTS OF GOD!
Steven Smith: Nice looking pin there.
Jeff Marx: Yes, The Furious Fists of God are victorious as I thought it’d be, but James Brunt really fails to sell these wins. Where's Clay Clayborne when you need him?
The scene shifts to a homeless shelter in Atlantic City, NJ, where former PCW ring announcer, Clay Clayborne, is seen sleeping off a drinking binge. In his right hand, is an empty bottle of bourbon. In his left hand, he clutches an old microphone.
Jeff Marx: Ooof. Sorry I asked.
Dave Kern: Great match, we’ll be right back.
Laying the Groundwork
FEATURING: MADDY ESTELLE, PADDY O'SHEA, JACK MURPHY
AUTHORS: FERGUS AND MICK
Maddy Estelle: Hey Paddy!
The big blonde bimbo of AWC bounds over to the new Transatlantic contender Paddy O'Shea who's chatting away to some staff member backstage. Paddy greets her warmly with a wink and a smile.
Paddy O'Shea: Me lass! How are ye?
Maddy Estelle: I'm good, I was wondering, and I was also told a couple of times by Pearl...what was it again?
Paddy laughs heartily as the blonde scratches her head with her microphone. It seems Kern, Marx and Smith are watching the proceedings too.
Jeff Marx: Look at the rack on her, woo!
Steven Smith: Don't you think mine is better?
Jeff Marx: Oh god no! MY EYES!
Dave Kern: Steven could you leave it out? Please!?
Steven Smith: (gloomily) Alright...
Meanwhile Maddy is still thinking of the words to say, her microphone now resting...in her breasts. Paddy is trying to not to chuckle at this, instead wanting to give her a helping hand.
Paddy O'Shea: Were ye going to ask me about me win at Triangles?
Jeff Marx: Ding ding ding!
Almost simultaneously Maddy's eyes light up.
Maddy Estelle: Yeah! That was it!
Jeff Marx: Kern, let’s catch Paddy and make him take us to the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow.
Dave Kern: SHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!
Paddy looks at Maddy and smiles.
Paddy O'Shea: No problem lassie, aye've got t'say tha'...
???: That you're a fraud?
The camera pans back and just behind them to the left stands Jack Murphy, Livewire championship slung over his shouder. He's got his hands folded and is tugging at his beard with his left hand. Paddy glares over at him and this coincides with the crowd booing heavily against him.
Dave Kern: Good to see the crowd agrees with my thoughts.
Jeff Marx: And what would that be?
Dave Kern: That he isn't fit for the praise he gives to himself.
Jeff Marx: Bah! You've never seen talent when it's right in front of you.
Steven Smith: (licks lips) I certainly do!
While Dave and Jeff both shudder audibly behind the announce table, Paddy has moved over to Murphy who stands quite a bit above him.
Paddy O'Shea: Who do ye think ye are? Aye won me shot fair and square so aye'ave the righ' to it!
Jack Murphy: (wiping face) Thanks for the drool, I know it's been a while since you've had a proper title but come on now...and besides, I have my right to my opinion little man. Don't come to me about being so high and mighty. It's not like you beat anyone important for that shot.
Paddy O'Shea: Like ye would'a had a chance 'gainst me!
Jack Murphy: Of course I do, and don't even think that you could beat me, you're too busy playing a ridiculous stereotype to remember what's going on, let alone wrestle. But my little leprechaun, I have every right to call you a fraud because that's what you are. Need I remind you that you very well could have had a shot against me?
Paddy O'Shea: But ye didn't! And where's that leave ye? With nothin'!
Dave Kern: He's got a point, Jack really is back where he started.
Jeff Marx: Eh...hello? Guaranteed title shots? Can't you see where this is going?
With that insightful piece of commentary, Jack does indeed head along that path.
Jack Murphy: (laughs) Oh how quickly your alcohol fuelled mind colours the past. Lest you forget I have a title shot, just like you, except I EARNED mine.
Paddy O'Shea: What are ye on about? Aye deserve everythin' aye've got and aye don't care what ye say. Aye've earned my place to take on Pierce Lavelle and nothin' ye say can change tha'! You may be bigger than me but ye sure aren't better!
The crowd cheers for this last comment as Paddy bares his knuckles and looks to start a fight. Jack it seems has other ideas though.
Jack Murphy: Hold your horses. I didn't come to fight, simply to bring truth and reality to your situation. Now maybe you've celebrated just a bit too hard since your 'well earned' victory, but the way I see it, you haven't got a hope in hell with Lavelle. Let's face it, you got through six of the most mediocre wrestlers on that PPV and you get a title shot! If everything was that easy in life, people would be driving Rolls Royce cars for their lives. You haven't earned a thing and what's more even if by some miracle you manage to defeat Lavelle and stand atop the pile...you won't last longer than ten minutes, because I'll be waiting. Those title shots are waiting to be used...and all it takes is me to simply ask for it on any night that I choose. So after you've won your hard earned belt, don't forget to look over your shoulder, there might just be a Bull charging your way.
Without another word Jack Murphy heads off out of picture, chuckling to himself, leaving Maddy and Paddy standing backstage.
Maddy Estelle: Like what?
Paddy O'Shea: Don't worry Maddy, aye got it.
Dave Kern: Murphy is certainly flaunting his power about tonight isn't he?
Jeff Marx: As he should every week!
Steven Smith: He could do more than flaunt...
Jeff Marx: Don't finish...
Steven Smith: I was just going to say that he needs to back his words with his ability. He's all talk.
Jeff Marx: Oh...ok. Well, you're still wrong, BWAHAHAHAHAHAHA!
Dave Kern: (sighs) Well, with that prescient last comment from Jeff let's get back to the action!
The Contract Signing
FEATURING: DAVID "PEARL" HARBER, JOHNNY NOBLE, RACE ALEXANDER
AUTHORS: THE RON-CON(rad...) CONNECTION
Dave Kern: And while we were away, AWC’s personnel were busy getting the ring ready for a truly momentous event in AWC history: The formalization of a long-term relationship between wrestling legend Johnny Noble and the Atlantic Wrestling Club.
Jeff Marx: Momentous!?! Maybe if it was 1979 this would have be momentous! In 2005, its just a desperate plea for ratings!
Steven Smith: I would settle for a no strings, short-term relationship with Mr. Noble.
Dave Kern: (sighing) Let’s head to the ring, and to AWC Entertainment Manager, David “Pearl” Harber!
The scene shifts to the ring where a red carpet has been laid out and a rich, mohogany-looking desk has been set up. Harber stands in the ring with a clipboard in his right hand and a mic in his left. He waves at the fans who are cheering him.
Jeff Marx: Wake me up when this is done.
Steven Smith: I wonder if Pearl would give me a Pearl Necklace, if you know what I mean.
Dave Kern: (quickly) We don’t you mean, nor do we want to!
In the ring, Harber raises the mic and begins to speak.
Pearl: Ladies and gentlemen! I am David Harber, better known as Pearl. And I am here to announce that AWC is going to sign a lucrative one year contract with Mr. Incredible Johnny Noble! Right here, now, in jolly ole England!
Jeff Marx: Land of ugly women and the toothless men that love them.
Steven Smith: You know, I once knew a man with no teeth, and I gotta tell you…
Dave Kern: (Interrupting) Shhhhhhhh!
The opening trumpets sound from Bill Conti's "Gonna Fly Now" and Johnny Noble makes his way out to to the ramp standing ovation from the crowd.
Dave Kern: THERE HE IS! THE LIVING LEGEND JOHNNY NOBLE!
Jeff Marx: I hear “Depends” signed on as a sponsor as soon as the Noble deal was signed.
Noble smiles and waves to the crowd. He's got a mic and he starts his address on the way to the ring.
Johnny Noble: It's good to be back in ENGLAND!
The crowd explodes.
Jeff Marx: Not only is this guy ancient, but he moves slow and resorts to cheap pop. What a piece of crap.
Dave Kern: Don’t say that! He is a pioneer in this industry, who blazed trails for many young stars to follow him.
Steven Smith: I’d like him to blaze a trail right up…
Kern and Marx: SHUT THE HELL UP!
Noble basks in the glory of the crowd, before continuing.
Johnny Noble: It's been a long time. I love this country and it's people and I couldn't have picked a better place to sign my contract.
The crowd explodes again.
Dave Kern: What a show of respect to the people of England by this classy, classy star!
Jeff Marx: (mimicking Dave’s tone and demeanor) What a show of cheap pop by this has-been, no-talent hack, who somehow fooled Harber into giving him a new deal!
Steven giggles.
Dave sighs.
With the crowd still cheering wildly, Noble climbs the ring steps and slips in between the ropes. He shakes hands with Harber, then turns to address the crowd once more.
Johnny Noble: Without any further ado, let's get down to the business at hand.
Pearl: Now, Johnny this contract entitles you to the monies discussed earlier, plus several television guest appearances, autograph signings, a film package and promotional and merchandising adverts and the like. All with their own kickbacks. All we need is your John Hancock on the bottom.
Noble grabs a pen and leans in to sign... then stops.
Johnny Noble: I just want to take a second to thank my son, Jethro, who has stuck beside me.
The crowd roars.
Dave Kern: What a class-act, Johnny Noble is.
A vomiting sound from Jeff Marx’ announce position is heard.
Noble puts his fist to his heart, and pauses a bit to let the crowd die down, before continuing.
Johnny Noble: To my faithful fans and all my little IncrediBuddies. Johnny Noble couldn't exist without you. And that's just the truth. I owe this contract to every one of you and so, after this event I'll be setting up a table on the concourse to sign autographs and I won't leave until everybody who wants one has…
Suddenly, Noble is interrupted by “Know Your Enemy” hitting the PA system.
Dave Kern: WHAT IN THE HELL?!
The camera shifts to the entryway, as out of the back steps AWC newcomer Race Alexander, flanked by his companion, Connie.
Dave Kern: WHAT THE HELL IS RACE ALEXANDER DOING OUT HERE?!
Jeff Marx: Hopefully putting and end to this travesty and sham taking place in the ring…
Steven Smith: Me likey…
Dave Kern: (ignoring Steven) WHO THE HELL DOES THIS GUY THINK HE IS INTERRUPTING A LEGEND LIKE JOHNNY NOBLE?!?!
The crowd voices their protest at the newcomer’s interruption of the contract signing proceedings.
Alexander stalks around the stage at the top of the ramp, and then raises a microphone to speak.
Race Alexander: Hey, Noble, I gotta newsflash for ya. There are no Incredibuddies here tonight. They are all over at the Radisson in Leeds for the Incredibuddies 40 year reunion.
Jeff Marx: HAH!
Dave Kern: WHAT DISRESPECT!
The crowd boos. In the ring, Noble and Harber share confused glances. Back on the ramp, Connie points to her man and nods in approval, as Alexander continues.
Race Alexander: You know, guys like you are the problem with this industry. You run around, pumped up on ‘Roids and Rogaine, hanging on to gimmicks that died 20 years ago.
Jeff Marx: AMEN, BRUTHA!
Race Alexander: (continuing) Meanwhile, guys like me are forced to toil away in obscurity, waiting for the torch to be passed. For 13 years, I guys like you did everything they could to keep me from coming to the big show, because they knew if I made it, that their days would be numbered. With that in mind, Mr. Incredible, I ask you: Have you checked the calendar lately?
Jeff Marx: NOT WITHOUT HIS READING SPECTACLES, I ASSURE YOU THAT!
Dave Kern: THIS IS A JOKE! SECURITY NEEDS TO COME OUT HERE AND GET THIS GUY OFF THE STAGE!
The crowd is outraged.
Back in the ring, Noble looks over at Harber, who responds with little more than a befuddled shrug. Turning back to Alexander, he rubs his chin, then raises his microphone in response.
Johnny Noble: You know, kid, sweat and blood from “guys like me,” as you call us, paved the way for punks like you to earn a living.
Dave Kern: EXACTLY!
Jeff Marx: Oh please… Cry me a freakin’ river.
The crowd pops, as Noble continues.
Johnny Noble: Real talent always rises to the top, and if you have it, the fans will recognize it and respect it. But, coming out here and interrupting my time, isn’t going to gain you any respect, or get you anywhere in this industry.
Dave Kern: Noble is absolutely right! Race Alexander has to pay his dues!
Jeff Marx: Clean the crap out of your ears, Kern. The guy just said he spent 13 years on the Indy scene unable to get his break.
Steven Smith: For the right favors, I could have helped him out…
Dave sighs.
Back at the top of the ramp, Race and Connie are seething. Connie whispers something to Race. He nods, before raising the microphone to speak.
Race Alexander: Yeah, maybe you are right. Coming out here and blabbing isn’t going to earn me any respect…
Alexander pauses for a moment as if deep thought.
Race Alexander: …Maybe I should just climb in that ring and kick your ass, RIGHT HERE! RIGHT NOW!
Alexander begins walking down the ramp towards the ring, with Connie on his right flank.
Dave Kern: Uh oh. I don’t like where this is headed.
Jeff Marx: Why not? Afraid Pop-Pop Steroid is going to get his geriatric ass handed to him?!?!
Steven Smith: I wou…
Kern and Marx: SHUT UP!
Alexander makes his way to the ringside area, and begins jawing up at the legend. Noble stands in the ring with an amused smile, and beckons the newcomer to enter.
The crowd is in a frenzy!
Jeff Marx: KICK HIS ASS, RACE!
Dave Kern: STOMP HIM, JOHNNY!
Steven Smith: MAKE LOVE TO ME, BOCA!
Alexander slowly circles the ring, looking for an opening to enter. Noble backs into the center of the ring to further entice Alexander to enter, but the opening is cut off as a disapproving Harber fills the space between the ropes and Noble.
Pearl: No, no, NO! THIS ISN’T GOING TO HAPPEN TONIGHT!
The crowd boos out of disappointment.
Jeff Marx: COME ON PEARLY! STOP CODDLING THAT OLD BAT!
Dave Kern: HE’S JUST KEEPING ORDER!
Connie shakes her head in disapproval, as Alexander crosses his arms over this chest. Back in the ring, Harber continues.
Pearl: Race, I know you were upset about your airtime getting cut, but a stunt like this isn’t going to earn you any favors or airtime. Now, since you are new, if you turn around right now and walk away, I will forget this little incident took place.
Dave Kern: A generous offer indeed!
Jeff Marx: JESUS CHRIST! DOES NOBLE REALLY NEED HARBER TO FIGHT HIS BATTLES FOR HIM?!?!
Race looks to Connie, who whispers something in his ear. Race smiles and nods, raises his hands as if to say ‘I’m done’, then slowly begins to back up the ramp, not breaking eye contact with Noble.
Dave Kern: FINALLY, COOLER HEADS HAVE PREVAILED!
After a dozen or so steps backwards, Connie and Race turn and cockily walk towards the backstage area.
Eastern Invasion II
FEATURING: SAM NEWMAN, MS VOLKYEVA BODYGUARD
AUTHOR: PIERRE HYDE
Sam Newman: I'm so pleased to meet you, Ms Volkyeva...
Ms Volkyeva: Please. The pleasure is all mine.
Her curt voice radiates none of the pleasure that her words claim as she casts her eyes disdainfully around the office of AWC’s major backer, sniffing as she slips her coat off her shoulders. Her bodyguard nips in to take it from her, a movement that she ignores.
Sam Newman: Shall we get to business, then?
The lady turns her nose up.
Ms Volkyeva: Who, pray, are you?
Sam Newman: We spoke on the telephone, Ms Volkyeva... my name is Sam Newman; I'm the major shareholder in the Atlantic Wrestling Club.
A warm smile suddenly crosses Volkyeva’s face.
Ms Volkyeva: Ah, do forgive me, Sam; I was expecting something a little... grander.
She looks pointedly at the walls, from which the cream-coloured paint is peeling. Newman coughs nervously.
Sam Newman: Well, yes, we prefer to direct all investment towards the product itself in these early stages... the take-off period of crucial in terms of acquiring market share, you know...
Ms Volkyeva: (interrupting) I am afraid that I do not, but I beg that you spare me of the redundant details. I understand that the money transfer went through smoothly?
Sam Newman: (hastily) That’s right, Ms Volkyeva; I reiterate my thanks for your company’s generosity –
Ms Volkyeva: It was merely one day’s turnover. “Pocket change”, I believe, is the term you use?
It isn’t, but Newman nods, in no position to argue. We don’t know in what capacity this lady is here, but it is clear from her belittling tones that she believes herself to be of greater import than Mr Newman, and as his word goes behind the scenes of AWC, it is quite a striking implication to make.
Ms Volkyeva: So!
The woman claps her hands together.
Ms Volkyeva: Tell me everything.
Who's For A Burrito?
FEATURING: PADDY O'SHEA, ADAM DICK
AUTHOR: MICHAEL DOHERTY
Dave Kern: Busy first night wouldn’t you say guys?
Steven Smith: The new talent here is...arousing.
Jeff Marx: Please God. Not another stint with this fruit...
Paddy O'Shea: Top o’ the morn t’ ye’s!
Dave Kern: We-
The call of the uilean pipes booms from the speakers and fills the arena in a short solo of beautiful intent, interrupting Dave Kern midspeech. As the crowd look on in awe, the video screen slowly fades from black into the flag of Ireland - the green, white and gold of the tri-colour, rippling in the wind.
The spotlights suddenly pan down to the entrance, just as the uilean pipes are replaced by "Raggle Taggle Gypsy" by Christy Moore. Paddy O’Shea appears from behind the curtain almost immediately, a triumphant smile being worn on his face. He’s wearing a sombrero which is odd now that the AWC has started its tour of the East. He holds a maraca in one hand and his Alliance title in the other. With the crowd cheering him on, he makes his way to the ring.
O'Shea enters the ring then raises his arms in triumph and plays to the crowd until his music cuts out. James Brunt hands him a microphone which he graciously takes.
The crowd pop once again as O’Shea begins his introduction. O’Shea grins widely and then raises a hand for them to quieten down.
Paddy O'Shea: Aye’m sure ye’s watched Triangles an’ what a fine event tha’ was. First of all, aye won number one contendership!
The crowd pop again and once again Paddy raises his hand.
Paddy O'Shea: Aye didn’ go all the way with the Transatlantic belt but tha’ is no’ a problem. Now aye’ve got a shot one on one, no stupid stips an’ this time, Paddy O’Shea isn’ makin’ any mistakes!
Paddy walks over to a turnbuckle and pats it lightly.
Paddy O'Shea: Aye’m here t’ discuss the Alliance belts however, no’ t’ gloat. But before aye go on, aye have t’ get somethin’ off me chest. Aye’ve got ye’s all t’ listen to me and try to understand. At Triangles, when aye fought Red Rock and Crimson O’Malec. An’ Crimson got hurt when he dived onto the announce table.
Jeff Marx: Idiot.
Paddy O'Shea: Aye swear aye didn’ kno’ he was hurt tha’ bad. If aye knew he was like tha’, aye wouldn’t have went on with the match. So...aye’ve got t’ ask ye t’ believe me, please.
The crowd cheer, trying to show their support for Paddy O’Shea at this crucial time. He’s been through a lot recently, his friend turned on him then his best friend got hurt and he walked on past. Well at least in his eyes he did. The crowd cease their cheers and allow the AWC favourite, Paddy O’Shea to continue.
O’Shea wipes his eye for a second and then begins shaking the maraca.
Paddy O'Shea: Who loves Mexico?
Crowd cheer.
Paddy O'Shea: Aye hope Mike Wade does, because he’s El Salsaing down in May-e-co as we speak!
Dave Kern: The crowd remembering how O’Shea locked his rival Mike Wade in a locker and shipped him off to Mexico at Triangles!
Paddy is about to continue when an unwelcome figure appears at the top of the stage, only the jeers of the crowd accompanying his entrance.
Adam Dick: Ha ha HA! Very funny you inbred Irishman. So now tonight, Adam Dick is without his Unfuckable buddy when he fights The Academy. I want - no, I DEMAND to know what the HELL is going on!
Paddy O'Shea: Aye-
Adam Dick: IT’S I NOT AYE LAMEBRAIN!
Jeff Marx: Yay! I like this guy!
Dave Kern: Charming!
Steven Smith: He has no ass...I’ll pass.
Adam Dick: Now let’s get something straight potato sucker. You have cost me my partner but he’ll be back by next week. And next week, you’re going to compensate and give us a shot at the Alliance titles. Okay? Thanks. Bye.
Paddy O'Shea: Alright.
The Illustrious Face-Eater stops short.
Adam Dick: Yes? As easy as...that?
Dave Kern: Dick underestimating Paddy’s kindness here.
Jeff Marx: Or stupidity. Yeah, I’ll go with the latter.
Paddy O'Shea: Aye. Ye can have yer shot. Only thing is...aye don’ have a partner.
Adam Dick: Boo fucking HOO! Go find one, dig up a gypsy cousin slash sister slash mother and get your ass in the ring for next week. Got it? Right, sweet dreams!
Adam Dick leaves the entrance while Paddy looks on in amazement. He then slowly begins to make his exit up the rampway as the crowd give him a final pop.
Dave Kern: Paddy and a partner versus the Unfuckables next week, Crimson O'Malec unfortunately unable to pair up with O'Shea to defend the titles they originally won - well - A LONG TIME ago, due to his major injury. He and AWC have parted ways since then, unfortunately. It’ll be interesting to see how Mike Wade reacts after spending almost two weeks in Mexico...
Jeff Marx: If I was down there, I’d be getting off with some hot Latinas. Heh heh.
At the mention of heterosexual intercourse, Steven Smith turns a light shade of green and cups his mouth.
Steven Smith: I’m going to be sick.
Jack Murphy (C) vs Alexa Kendericks
STIPULATION: SINGLES
REFEREE: MICHAEL RYAN
AUTHOR: TASO
Dave Kern: Well if you didn't know who that was, folks, it was AWC's controlling shareholder Sam Newman! He owns the majority of the company! And it looks like our mysterious Ms Volkyeva had a meeting scheduled with him... this is getting decidedly fishy.
Steven Smith: Kind of like a used condom.
Dave sighs.
James Brunt: The following is a singles match for the AWC Livewire championship! Introducing first, the champion, JACK "THE BULL" MURPHY!
Jack Murphy steps out to the boos of the fans.
Jeff Marx: Jack Murphy doesn't give a crap as he heads to the ring with the Livewire title. He is a hot property in the AWC.
James Brunt: And his opponent... ALEXA KENDERICKS!
POW! "Awake" by Godsmack hits and out comes Alexa.
Steven Smith: WOW! Pyro! She looks good as she hits the ring. Chainz must be salivating over his monitor...
Dave Kern: Murphy is in there with a woman! Is he gonna fight? Is he going to try to make a fool out of Alexa?
DING! DING! DING!
Jeff Marx: They tie up in the middle of the ring... your referee is Micheal Ryan, ladies and gentlemen. Jack Murphy EASILY pushing Alexa into the corner. There is a 5 count by the ref and Bull JUST breaks the hold. Alexa PUSHES him away! She is showing Murphy she isn't down with his "women should stay in the kitchen and the bedroom" old fashioned, close-minded bullcrap. MURPHY PUSHES HER! He showed her the ultimate disrespect! She SLAPS him in the face!
Dave Kern: Bring it on! Bring it on! Jack Murphy is waving at her! Bring it on, baby!
Murphy ducks a high kick, then sidesteps a front kick. He blocks one punch with his hand, another with the butt of his forehead. Alexa shakes her hand in pain, curls up her eyebrows, and still manages to spin out a low sweeping kick. Murphy jumps over it. He blocks two thrust punches, one low, one high, then catches a sidekick. He holds Alexa there for a sec and smiles, and then just tries to spin her off balance.
Dave Kern: Spinning heel kick out of NO WHERE! Jack is stunned. CHOPPING IT DOWN ON THE BULL BY ALEXA! He's in trouble... THE BULLCHARGE FROM JACK THE BULL! He had to pull out the big guns to stop Alexa's WELL CRAFTED and POWERFUL attack!
Jeff Marx: He no-sold her entire offense until she connected with that awesome heel kick. Then he had no choice. But he is still giving her little respect in there as he slams her face into the turnbuckle. Now he turns to the crowd and is saying... "She asked for it?!"
Dave Kern: SHE ASKED FOR IT!?
Steven Smith: BULL CHARGE! No! Kendericks jumps up on the turnbuckle and Jack HITS the post! Now she slides down on him like a black widow spider... ASSASSIN'S HONOUR DRAGON SLEEPER! He's gonna go out in style! Alexa has him in that nasty sleeper hold!
First, Murphy tries to knock her off with a judo flip but she hangs on. Then he slams into the turnbuckle but she isn't moving an inch. The fans start to go a little nuts and Murphy starts to feel the effects of the hold. He is getting spaghetti legs. He aims for another turnbuckle but the ref gets in the way so they slam into the ref and he goes down to the mat and the fans REALLY start to go nuts. So much for the ref bumps Murphy hates. He realizes that there is only one way to break the Assassin's Honour that this bitch has on him so he runs with a full head of steam and throws himself right through the corner ropes and into a post. They both go flying to the outside like ragdolls in a car accident.
Dave Kern: LORD HAVE MERCY! DID YOU SEE THAT MOVE!?
On the outside, the wrestlers get up at the same time. Murphy charges at Alexa again, and PLOWS right into the ring announcer and some chairs and things go flying everywhere. Alexa JUST leapfrogged the attack. She hops onto the announcer's table and hits a flying diamond cutter on a pile of chairs! The fans are loving the action, the big move after big move.
Jeff Marx: GAAAH! THAT WAS INSANE!
Alexa charges at a stunned but still standing Jack Murphy and executes the handspring elbow and they both go flying over the barricade and into the fans. A chair flies out of nowhere. The fans are throwing a fit. They both get up at the same time and Alexa connects with a standing hurricanrana and Jack's head hits the floor. The fans are chanting both wrestler's names, but Alexa is getting the bigger pop. The referee suddenly pops up on shakey legs and starts counting. Alexa heads for the ring, over the barricade and through the chairs and mess near the announcer's table. Jack the Bull follows. She slides into the ring and right before Jack can reach the apron she hits a tope right back over the top and all over him and they both hit the floor. Alexa gets up, shaken, and heads for the ring. Jack is right behind her AGAIN. He rolls through the ropes and she drops an ace crusher on him. He sinks to the mat right in front of the corner turnbuckle.
Jeff Marx: Alexa Kendricks going to to the top rope... DEATH FROM ABOVE... NO! NO! Murphy moved out of the way! He is setting her up! HE SET HER UP! Look at the smile on his face!
Dave Kern: Sick, perverse smile on Jack the Bull's lips... waiting for Alexa to get to her feet... The BULL CHARGE! Oh SILLY PUTTY! That was nasty! She went flying across the ring!
Steven Smith: The Bull grabs Alexa... CAGE OF TORMENT! He has her in a submission hold! It's a signature move! Reverse full nelson! Alexa right away is struggling to get out, she is feeling the huge difference in strength here between her and Jack--- OH MY! ONE! The ref is making the count... TWO! She is in deep trouble here!
Jeff Marx: What the hell are you doing?
Steven Smith: What?
Jeff Marx: That sounded like commentary. Actually, more like play-by-play…
Steven Smith: Yeah. Someone didn’t pay attention to the commentator instructions.
Jeff Marx: Well, after reading this verbal tirade by the mighty Ron, he will do a better job next time, won’t he?
Steven Smith: Hopefully he’ll do a job on and to me!
Jeff Marx: Now we are cookie with Crisco.
Dave is seething at the disruption. Back in the ring, Alexa gets her hand up.
Dave Kern: She gets her hand up, just in time! Now she is struggling for the ropes... wiggling her butt across the canvas!
Steven Smith: What?!
Dave Kern: YES! She has her foot on the ropes! How did she do that?! She escaped, ref calls for the break, she scoots under the ropes and stands up on the apron... The Bull has to listen to the ref give him crap for not breaking the hold in time... giving Alexa a chance...
Jeff Marx: LOOK! Not now! CHAINZ! CHAINZ IS RUNNING TO RINGSIDE!
Dave Kern: He grabbed Alexa's leg! She is trying to shake him off! The ref is distracted! What a surprise! Jack Murphy sees his opening... BULL CHARGE RIGHT INTO ALEXA! She flies off the apron and SMASHES into the guardrail!
Steven Smith: Look at Chainz running away like a thief in the night! And the referee... well, he is counting out Alexa!
ONE! TWO! THREE!
Dave Kern: Alexa is down and out! The Bull hit that charge so hard, he knocked her six ways to Sunday!
FOUR! FIVE! SIX!
Jeff Marx: She ain't getting up!
SEVEN! EIGHT! NINE! TEN!
Jeff Marx: It's over! Alexa Kendericks has been counted out and this is a travesty!
James Brunt: The winner by count-out, and still Livewire champion... JACK MURPHY!
Dave Kern: Alexa has a score to settle with Chainz because he stole the match from her! The Livewire championship stays with Jack "The Bull" Murphy! Maybe it IS true and women don't belong here in AWC!
Jeff Marx: A-freaking-men.
Steven Smith: I get the feeling Murphy and Chainz and anyone with those sentiments is going to have enjoyed watching this match! Jack Murphy over Alexa Kendericks! You saw it here!
Sharks in Danger
FEATURING: PADDY O'SHEA, RED ROCK, ???
AUTHOR: ???
When Paddy O'Shea knocked on Red Rock's locker-room door, he hadn't expected said door to creak open of its own will.
He also didn't expect the puddle of blood he stepped into.
Now, he's looking over the bone-on-skin, blunt force gash on Red Rock's unconscious face, and the swelling welts across his chest and stomach.
Paddy O'Shea: Jesus...
Kneeling for a moment, he presses the loose hem of his shirt against Red Rock's forehead to help the bleeding. He's about to call for a medic when the door behind him slams shut.
''You walked right into it, too,'' laughs a female voice. ''That's what you PCW alumni get for sticking together.''
A bat cracks him in full-swing across the shoulders, and the sickening blast of wood against his skull is the last thing Paddy O'Shea hears.
Butterfly Hamada vs Chainz
STIPULATION: SINGLES
REFEREE: RICHIE TRAVIS
AUTHOR: PIERRE HYDE
Dave Kern: Our fourth of five matches tonight is gonna see Butterfly Hamada take on Chainz, in Richie Travis’ first match as an AWC referee.
Jeff Marx: What a tool.
Steven Smith: (cooing) Mmmmmmmm… Tooool…
Marx is referring to the referee now stretching in the ring, whose long blond hair and sunglasses seem a hit with the fans.
Steven Smith: Excuse me, a powerful orgasm is coming.
Dave Kern: (crossly) Steven, please think before you speak, kids do watch this show.
Jeff Marx: Which totally explains the existence of a rapist on the roster.
Dave Kern: Touché, Jeff. Touché.
Butterfly Hamada’s still unknown entrance music plays as she serenely walks down to the ring, giving a little wave to a fan who cheers particularly loudly but otherwise doing little to acknowledge the fans.
Dave Kern: Butterfly Hamada getting some cheers from this capacity crowd after her good performance at Triangles, only losing out to Paddy O’Shea two falls to one for Transatlantic title contendership.
Jeff Marx: But... sorry... losing out to Paddy O’Shea. She should be ashamed of that in itself.
Steven Smith: O’Shea... Paddy “Irishman” O’Shea? Diamond In The Rough winner?
Kern/Marx: YES!
Steven Smith: Oh. He’s not all that good-looking.
Dave sighs.
James Brunt: The following is a singles match. Introducing first, from Tokyo, Japan, weighing in at 160 pounds... MEGUMI “BUTTERFLY” HAMADA!
Jeff Marx: So... her real name’s Megumi...
Dave Kern: But she wrestles under Butterfly.
Steven Smith: I’d like to wrestle under Butterfly, if you smell what th-
Dave Kern: Yes, I smell what the Steven’s cooking, thank you...
Jeff Marx: Like, I DON’T. Aren’t you gay?
Smith does a double-take.
Steven Smith: THAT’S A GIRL? Ewwwwwww!
Butterfly jumps up over the ropes and into the ring, performing some high kicks with her supple legs to prepare her body for the match. “Cure” by the Wild Colonials begins to boom out from the speakers, and out comes Chainz with Tracy at his side.
James Brunt: And her opponent, being accompanied to the ring by Tracy, from Birmingham, Alabama, weighing in at 295 pounds... CHAINZ!
Chainz gets a hostile reception from the Newcastle crowd, his sinister overtures over the past few weeks having made an impression on the AWC fans.
Jeff Marx: What is the point of that girl? All tits and no substance.
Dave Kern: Isn’t that exactly what you like in a girl?
Jeff Marx: Well... yeah, but not when she’s taken.
Tracy and Michael “Chainz” Sloan share a full-on kiss before Chainz lumbers into the ring. Richie Travis nods his greeting before rushing through the formalities and calling for the bell. Immediately, Chainz steps forward and slams the base of his hand into Butterfly Hamada. Her neck snaps back and she falls to the mat, unable to defend herself.
Steven Smith: Brutal shot!
Hamada, on all fours, tries to scramble away but Chainz boots her hard in the side and the 160 pounder crumples. Kneeling over her, Chainz pounds away at her forehead with big right hands, much to the chagrin of Dave Kern.
Dave Kern: This is more of a street beating than a wrestling match!
Jeff Marx: If she doesn’t wanna get hurt she should stay the hell out of the ring. Chainz is entitled to do whatever he likes to win the match.
Dave Kern: But this is CRUEL!
The fans agree with him, booing heavily as Hamada is steadily beaten by the expressionless Sloan. Tracy runs her tongue along her top row of teeth at ringside, trying to hide an ugly grin.
Jeff Marx: She’s loving it.
Dave Kern: Commendably, Tracy is making an effort to hide it...
Jeff Marx: How in HELL is that commendable? So she isn’t loyal to her man OR the fans!
Dave Kern: I don’t think it’s about loyalty.
Steven Smith: I don’t think anybody cares.
Boom, boom, boom, and Chainz pounds away at Butterfly. Richie Travis squats down, muttering something to Sloan – “Alright, she’s had enough mate” would do it. But Chainz shakes his head, ignoring the referee.
Jeff Marx: Oh, look at the good Samaritan... that’s not your damn job.
Dave Kern: It is if he’s using a closed fist...
Jeff Marx: DETAILS, Dave!
Blood starts to trickle from her split eyebrow as Hamada stoically takes the punishment, physically unable to counter or throw Chainz off.
Dave Kern: OH IN HEAVEN’S NAME STOP THIS BEATING!
The negative heat from the fans is oppressive. Some are even turning away from the action, repulsed by this sick act of dominance. Perhaps acting on Tracy’s instruction, Chainz finally stops after what must be the thirtieth punch, stepping off Hamada and looking down at her face, which is covered in welts and bruises, with satisfaction.
Steven Smith: He is one ugly fucker...
Dave Kern: (bitterly) I hope that sicko’s proud of himself.
Chainz grabs Hamada by the head, pulling her to her feet.
Dave Kern: NO MORE! GOD! Just finish this and put us all out of our misery!
Chainz forces her head down and in between her legs, flipping her relatively light frame up onto his shoulders and slamming it down to the canvas. The powerbomb becomes a double powerbomb, Hamada hitting the mat again with force, and Chainz hooks the leg almost as an afterthought.
ONE!
TWO!
THREE!
Jeff Marx: Chain Reaction! Michael Sloan’s destruction of Butterfly – sorry, Megumi – or whatever the hell she calls herself – complete. Moral of the story: women can’t compete.
Dave Kern: That’s not true. AWC has a legacy of very able females: Ellis Nash, Juri Hyobanshi – who is no longer with AWC, incidentally – Alexa Kendericks, and... others...
James Brunt: The winner... CHAINZ!
Tracy rushes into the ring and gives Chainz a big hug as he spreads his arms, taunting the crowd, who throw every insult in the book at him.
Dave Kern: That monster needs to be kept out of the ring.
Eastern Invasion III
FEATURING: SAM NEWMAN, MS VOLKYEVA BODYGUARD
AUTHOR: PIERRE HYDE
Sam Newman: ...and that concludes our little tour.
Newman turns, with a smile fixed on his face, to Ms Volkyeva, who is patting a tissue against her cheek.
Ms Volkyeva: I am sorry, what did you say?
Discarding the tissue (her personal guard stoops to pick it up), the middle-aged blonde’s eyes blaze challengingly at the major shareholder, who averts his eyes.
Sam Newman: I... I was just saying that we’ve come to the end of your tour on the building, Ms Volkyeva –
Ms Volkyeva: Thank you, Sam.
Her interruption is clearly intended to remind Newman that she is calling him by his first name, an indicator of her perceived differential between them.
Sam Newman: All that remains is for me to show you your office – if you’d like to move through this door...
Newman pushes open a door, waiting for the lady to go in first as manners would dictate. Volkyeva sneers and looks to her bodyguard, who strides importantly into the office, the lady following. Mr Newman brings up the rear, and as the door swings shut, the camera turns to focus on the plaque at eye level:
ENTERTAINMENT MANAGER
New School Flash
FEATURING: ANDY MURRAY, AIMZ
AUTHOR: KATIE AND ANDY
Jeff Marx: HA! Pearl's lost his job!
Steven Smith: What in God's name was that all about? She's going to be in charge?
Dave Kern: No, no, I'm sure that's just - er - Harber's old office. He's upgraded to a bigger one but they haven't moved the plaque...
Jeff Marx: LIKELY!
Dave Kern: (crossly) Well, Pearl's here today, isn't he? He hasn't lost his job. So your argument is NULL AND VOID.
A sharp, sudden guitar chord cuts through the air as the lights in the arena intially dip then flash blue and white along with a chaotic drum beat. The letters “S.K.C.” appear on the big screen as Anthrax’s “Nobody Knows Anything” continues to ring out across the arena, causing many of those in attendance to rise to their feet cheering. The song continues to play out as the anticipation builds, before eventually a burst of pyro ignites from the top of the ramp as the vocals kick in and the newly-returned former Frontier champion Andy Murray appears at the top of the ramp.
Dave Kern: It's Andy Murray, formerly of PCW!
Jeff Marx: Oh, great. Red Rock, O'Shea and now Murray... how many more PCW jobbers made their way over here?
A mic in hand and a grin across his face, Andy soaks in the cheers from the crowd before making his way down to the ring. After slapping hands with a couple of fans on the way down, the Scottish King of Cool eventually slides into the ring and throws an arm in the air jubilantly, glad to be back. Eventually the thrash metal racket begins to fade from the airwaves, as Murrr opens his mouth…
Andy Murray: Good evening mothercluckers, how’s it going then?
Rather cheaply, the crowd cheer back at Murray.
Andy Murray: Super, smashing, great, glad to hear it. So anyway, three weeks ago, I’m sitting at home watching a broadcast of Fresh!, and well, I couldn’t BELIEVE how much of a twat-fest this place has become. I mean, how in the name of Jimmy did Mike Wade get so high up the rankings!?! That guy is about as entertaining as watching a Sunderland/Middlesbourough derby on a Sunday afternoon!
Again the Newcastle faithful respond with a mammoth roar of cheers as Murray ribs their biggest soccer rivals.
Andy Murray: And please, who the hell is Adam Dick!?! Yes sir, there sure has been some crazy shizzle going down up in this biatch since the Scottish King of Cool departed… but fear not, Murrayites! For I have returned, once again, to battle the terror! No longer will I be losing to little rasclarts who pretend to be Welsh, or people who CLAIM to eat the faces of others, oh no! This is going to be some old-school stuff… straight PCW shizzle!
A group of hardcore fans cheer loudly at the mention of the legendary promotion.
Andy Murray: It’s gonna be just like the good old days; these cocky, young punks wont know what hit ‘em! And hey, with Kern, Marx and Smith on the go once again, why not inject a little PCW-
Rather suddenly, the air fills with circus-like music and clapping. Then it's a male laugh...
''May I have your attention, please?''
The song is Hush's "Rock Sh*t", but the anthem's benefactor is entirely unknown - unless you caught her theme change at the last PRIME Pay-Per-View.
Murray didn't catch it, but his eyes are widening somewhat as a young woman walks up the steps with a microphone in hand. He doesn't entirely recognize her, but the jeans and black wifebeater that show off tattoos from her wrists to her hipbones give it away, not to mention that signature swagger.
Dave Kern: Whoa!
Aimz: I was gonna do the whole debut thing in next week's main event and all...
Andy Murray: Oh my gosh! Someone got a haircut! Red Rock, is that you?!
Murray squints at the redhead who's become the recipient of a fair 'Ho-lee SHIT!' chant from surprised fans.
Jeff Marx: Where the hell is Chainz when you need him?
Dave Kern: Don't go there.
Jeff Marx: (evilly) I just did.
Aimz: Cram it for a second. I was GOING to debut next week, but I think telling you to shut the f*ck up will get me a few more fans. That, and I've been sitting around here for what, two weeks? I was hiding out back, signing papers and looking at account balances for my new bosses at Triangles, and then again tonight... and you know what I saw?
Andy laughs in her face. That's normally not a good thing to do to Aimz... but it's not as if he cares.
Andy Murray: The earth-trembling, gut-busting return of the Scottish King of Cool?
Aimz: You're confusing my vision with the dream you had last night.
Amy chuckles, taking a moment to wait for the crowd's roar to die down a little.
Aimz: What I saw was Red Rock and Paddy talk about showing people how things are done 'PCW style'. Then, I walked in this week and heard some jackass on the loudspeaker saying it again. That was about four minutes ago, that jackass was you, and here I am.
Andy Murray: Listen, vile cretinous woman, are you usually such an attention whore, or do you actually have a point?
Aimz: Did I say you could try to look intelligent around me? CRAM. IT. Now, I signed to this place only to find a bunch of senior citizens jawing like World War veterans about something that was as good as dead four years ago, and it pissed me RIGHT the hell off. Who're you kidding hyping PCW like that, Murray?
Andy Murray: ...Says the girl who never got into PCW.
Steven Smith: Ooh, cut her deep.
The fans are on the edges of their seats, smiling at this exchange of banter that is seen all too little in AWC.
Aimz: Correct, because I like living in the now. Aside from whackjobs like you, who wants to jump on a boat that's taking on water so fast even its so-called 'captain' already jumped on a lifeboat? Come on, now. About three years ago I saw a dying fed, and then I saw OSW blowing away the ashes with a whisper. I took my chance, and nearly became champion there. Then, as OSW died a rather horrible and bulging death, I went even bigger and headed to fWo. And when that started to suck? The upstart was PRIME... and I won't get into that, but you'll get the jist of the story if you detect the little pattern here. I don't feel like letting the people who love AWC, or the people who're starting out and trying to get by, to have to sit through another god damned speech about how great some 'Phantom Booker' or the pathetic company he abandoned - most likely for a good reason - was. Your Booker was lame and your beloved federation's roster festered alongside you in the bowels of PTC, talking about the good ol' days and making those of us who see a tomorrow SICK. While I was bettering myself and winning the acclaim of more than a select little group of nostalgic fans, you and your pals were sitting in weak tournaments with your thumbs so far up your asses that you couldn't even win a Global title you wastes of air created. Why the hell should I have to sit backstage getting hyped up for my big debut and listening to your slack-jawed garbage that's been recycled a hundred times over by every 'PCW Vet' who couldn't truly make it anywhere else?
Jeff Marx: Did she just say something?
Dave sighs.
Steven giggles.
Andy Murray: Are you off your rocker, wench!?! What gives you the right to come out here, in front of all those Murrayites out there, and make a mockery of the long-awaited return of Murrr, hmmmm? You can cram your OSW’s, fWo’s, and PRIME’s where the sun doesn’t shine, for all I care… but how dare you soil the legacy of one of the greatest promotions this business has ever seen? Lets not forget, if it weren’t for PCW, your beloved OSW would have been devoid of it’s brightest star – Ivan Stanislav – and where would you have been then, eh? You say I haven’t made it anywhere else? Obviously, you missed the two months that I spent tearing this bad-boy up, then, before my back eventualy gave way again. You’re full of far too much piss and vinegar for your own good… better close your mouth, before I get the fire-breathing badgers to burn yo’ ass!
The crowd cheer slightly, probably more at Andy putting Aimz down than the mention of his beloved, unique pets.
Dave Kern: He makes sense. Without PCW, OSW would never have existed.
Aimz: That's all well and good, Andrew. You've got your plans, and I've got mine. I plan to spend the next little while showing you and any other fossil around here exactly how rusty your beloved Primetime Championship Worthlessness left you. And, me? I'll take as long as I need, because I can. How's that for a chick who was too scared of the mic to speak up back when you cats were 'on top'? And remember that time, not like it was yesterday, but like it was the very last time you'll EVER see the top of anything - let alone a PTC card.
She smiles sweetly at Murray, knowingly mocking him.
Aimz: And if this voice sounds oddly familliar all of a sudden? It's because I was talking to Red Rock and Paddy when I cut them down earlier tonight with a bat I found kickin' around the lockers. You just keep prancing around the ring with your badgers, and I'll be out back finding someone else for whom the PCW bell tolls to maim. And watch your back if you don't want it going out again, you've got nobody to blame but yourself for giving away your greatest weakness. Maybe you fuckwits could learn a little something from me, huh?
Before Murray can speak, the microphone meets the mat. Neither star seems sure of what they should do, but Aimz is stepping backwards through the ropes - apparently not quite ready for a physical confrontation with the legend. Boos begin to creep over the guardrail in her direction - an odd thing to hear with Aimz in the building - as Andy Murray makes mocking faces at the redhead who's brave enough to turn her back on him.
Andy Murray: Don't worry, Murrayites - she'll be done for soon. After all, bears can smell the menstruation!
With that, Andy Murray's backing out of the ring to a deafening roar of cheers and Anchorman quotes from his fans.
The Unfuckables vs The Academy
STIPULATION: DUO TAG
REFEREE: LARS LARSSON
AUTHOR: PIERRE HYDE
Jeff Marx: So how the HELL is this going to work?
We’re back at ringside, where Jeff Marx is just informing us of the obvious: the scheduled main event involves four people, but only three of them are here. Mike Wade, one half of The Unfuckables, whose Team Invitational Tour Bonanza this scheduled match is the third part of.
Dave Kern: I'm afraid I haven’t a clue. Folks, we have the mouth-watering prospect of The Academy versus The Unf – I can’t say this –
Jeff Marx: UNFUCKABLES...
Steven Smith: You know, I think they look more than fuckable.
Dave Kern: ...that match, yes, is lined up – but unfortunately we aren’t going to be able to see that match since Mike Wade is still trapped in Mexico after Paddy O’Shea organised a little trip for the Irishman towards the end of Triangles!
Muse’s “Stockholm Syndrome” without warning begins to blare out from the speakers, and the effect on the Telewest Arena is enormous, every single fan rising out of his or her seat to herald the arrival of two of the biggest fan favourites in AWC right now. Pierce Lavelle and Tim Shipley emerge, exchanging a few serious last words before the match.
James Brunt: The following is a Duo Tag match, and is the third in the Unfuckable Team Invitational Tour Bonanza! Introducing first, from Milton Keynes, England and Harrisburg, Pennsylvania respectively, at a combined weight of 446 pounds... the Frontier champion Tim Shipley and the Transatlantic champion Pierce Lavelle... THE ACADEMY!
Shipley and Lavelle stride down to the ring, wide grins on their faces as they look out at and interact with the rows of faces cheering them on. A title belt around each of their waists, they look unbeatable.
Dave Kern: The two top champions in AWC teaming up together... surely they’ll be ending the “bonanza” by defeating The Unf – them.
Jeff Marx: Well, of course they will, since only Dick’s available to fight. But if that stupid Irishman O’Shea hadn’t started playing these stupid games The Unfuckables would march on, and maybe people would really sit up and take some fucking notice if they beat those two posers Shipley and Lavelle.
Steven Smith: (drooling) Pierce Lavelle is a little bit shmexy...
Lavelle and Shipley climb into the ring, referee Lars Larsson bobbing impatiently on the balls of his feet as Muse is replaced by Thrice.
James Brunt: And their opponents, from Waterford, Ireland and... somewhere else, respectively, the Relentless champion Mike Wade and Adam Dick... THE UNFUCKABLES!
Jeff Marx: Plus, The Academy hardly ever team up. Wade and Dick know each other inside out.
Dave Kern: Debatable. Look at the statistics – each team has had two matches – though one of The Academy’s was on a UWF show, against High Society, where I am pleased to report they brought home the glory for AWC.
Jeff Marx: I could care less about AWC. Those fools are paying me. That’s what floats my boat.
Steven Smith: Pierce Lavelle floats mine!
Dave Kern: Snap out of it, Steven.
Jeff Marx: It’s like he’s never seen abs before.
Steven Smith: Not on you, no.
After a considerable delay, only Adam Dick emerges from backstage as expected, looking a little flushed. His walk today is less of a strut and more – well, a walk. He only has eyes for Pierce Lavelle – rather like commentator Steven Smith, but for entirely different reasons.
Dave Kern: Adam Dick looks a shadow of his usual self tonight. Could there be an element of worry creeping into his game at this impending handicap match?
Jeff Marx: No.
Dave Kern: ...just no?
Jeff Marx: Yeah.
Dick, muted, trots up the steps and into the ring, his hostile reception continuing even after the music has faded. Lavelle, seeing Dick’s intense glare and not trusting it, tells Shipley to take the first shift, which he happily does.
Steven Smith: Adam Dick has an agenda with each of his opponents tonight. Pity he won’t have the chance to settle either score.
Jeff Marx: And what makes you say that?
Steven Smith: Simple rules of tagging in and out. If Lavelle and Shipley act rationally they shouldn’t have to break much of a sweat, since when they ARE about to break a sweat, they can tag. Pity...
Jeff Marx: Don’t worry Steven, you’ll see Lavelle get plenty sweaty in the future.
Steven Smith: There is a God!
The bell rings, and Shipley immediately lunges in with a tie-up. Armdragging the Face-Eater to the mat, Shipley turns to shoot a confused glare at Lavelle. Why the lack of resistance? The Transatlantic champion shrugs.
Shipley turns back to find Dick waiting patiently, watching him.
Dave Kern: I don’t know what Adam Dick’s playing at.
Steven Smith: Nor does Shipley, but he knows he’s still got a job to do, bless him.
Jeff Marx: Job? Shipley? Never!
Dave Kern: I hope that wasn’t sarcasm...
Shipley executes another armdrag; Dick gets straight back up and looks at him once more. Feeling a bit more daring, Shipley takes his former bitter enemy in a front facelock and hooks the arm over his neck before hitting a perfect snap suplex.
Dave Kern: Dick offers little resistance.
Steven Smith: Is that a comment on the match we’re watching or the story of your life?
Once more, Dick scrambles straight back up and Shipley moves over to him, once again met with his glassy-eyed stare. Suddenly realising something, Shipley moves aside – and indeed, it’s not Shipley Dick’s been staring at, it’s Lavelle.
Jeff Marx: I get the impression more has gone on between Lavelle and Dick behind the scenes than we’ve been told about. A lot more.
Dave Kern: Could it be something to do with those terrible scars Lavelle is sporting on both forearms? They were first seen fresh at Triangles.
Shipley throws a hand to his side, shaking his head impatiently. There’s just no point of this. Lavelle nods in response to a questioning look from the Englishman, and sticks out his hands. Shipley calmly walks over and slaps it. Lavelle heads in.
The effect is electric.
Dick sprints at the champion like a steam train, sending him spiralling to the mat with a clothesline slammed across the jaw. Shipley, shocked, turns Dick towards him and swings a hard knife-edge across the chest.
”WOOOO!”
Dismissively, Dick gives Shipley a poke in the eye and resumes his attack on Lavelle as Larsson tells the non-legal man to leave the ring.
Jeff Marx: Transformed!
Steven Smith: That was an inhumanly powerful clothesline from The Illustrious Face-Eater, who is by no means big. He put everything into that.
Dave Kern: He wanted to take Lavelle’s head clean off!
Steven Smith: Yeah, while I want to suck it clean off...
Kern and Marx: UGH!
Dick throws rapid punches at Lavelle’s face immediately on his rising, and Lavelle, unable to respond, is forced back into his own corner. Dick turns Lavelle around with a rough twist of his body, so that Pierce is facing into the turnbuckle, and gives him a quick shoulder barge, eliciting a grunt from Lavelle.
Dave Kern: Looks like Dick is trying to set Lavelle up here...
Jeff Marx: Good one, genius!
Seeing the problem, Shipley makes a grab for Dick over the top rope; not even bothering to look at the young Englishman the Face-Eater swings an elbow, catching Shippers on the side of the head. He goes down, clutching the middle rope desperately to stay on the apron. Meanwhile, Dick flips up onto Lavelle’s shoulders and hits the OSAMA-RANA!
Jeff Marx: CAN YOU SAY W.M.D.?!
Dave Kern: THE OSAMA-RANA! Folks, I think I am right in saying that’s the first time we’ve seen this move in AWC!
Jeff Marx: Obviously it’s the first time we’ve seen it; it’s our first night of action.
Steven Smith: I remember my first night of action... a great day for mankind.
Dick mounts Lavelle’s face-down body and begins to slam his head again and again into the mat, yelling abuse at the Transatlantic champion who is powerless to stop him.
Steven Smith: This is nothing short of bullying!
Shipley quickly pulls himself under the bottom rope, rolling into the ring and then pushing himself up to hit a quick dropkick to the side of Dick’s head, causing the two to roll sideways. Larsson shoos Shipley away, but the damage to Dick’s momentum is done and Lavelle gets gratefully to his feet before grabbing the parted legs of the Face-Eater and catapulting him into the turnbuckle!
Jeff Marx: Fakest – move – ever!
Dave Kern: A catapult from Pierce Lavelle dazes Adam Dick!
Dick slumps against the turnbuckle as Lavelle casually tags Shipley in; the Englishman enters and the two advance together. Lavelle takes Dick (Kerry Ritter laughs like a girl) in a waistlock from behind and launches him overhead; Shipley falls into place with a neckbreaker combining with the German suplex to fell Facey. Tim Shipley then rolls on top of the Unfuckable, hooking his leg for the first attempted fall, while Lavelle goes out to the apron.
ONE!
TWO!
Dick kicks out.
Steven Smith: A nice little collaboratory move by The Academy, getting some power into the double-team... but Adam Dick kicks out.
Shipley stands and backs away to the ropes, breathing freely as he considers strategy, keeping his beady eyes on Dick’s prone form. Dick just lies there... and lies there... and lies there...
Dave Kern: Playing possum, perhaps?
Jeff Marx: HA! Nah, he’s just showing Shipley he has no interest WHATSOEVER in fighting him. He’s waiting for Lavelle.
With a frustrated shake of the head, Shipley purses his lips as he glances at Lavelle, and then walks carefully over to TIFE. He raises his leg, and cautiously stabs the toe of his right boot into Dick’s ribs. No go. He does it again. Dick just takes the shot, his eyes wide open as he stares up at Shipley, almost smiling.
Dave Kern: You’re right Jeff – for a change. Adam Dick is just not interested in fighting Shipley.
Shipley rolls his eyes and bad-temperedly tags in his partner. Lavelle lays a hand on Shipley’s shoulder, issuing calming words to the agitated youngster.
Steven Smith: Hot gay sex!
Jeff Marx: ...Right.
Dave Kern: All the young guy wants to do is have a straight wrestling match and Dick won’t let him! I feel for Shipley.
Steven Smith: Whatever. I feel him.
Dick scrambles to his feet as Lavelle enters the ring; his charging clothesline is this time ducked, and Dick goes hurtling into the ropes. On the rebound he is suddenly stopped dead by the Blackout!
Jeff Marx: Blackout!
Dave Kern: THUMB TO EYE~!
Wasting no time, Lavelle rapidly tags Shipley back in and scoop slams the unsighted Dick to the floor.
Dave Kern: We’re looking at TMK here...
Jeff Marx: And that is? Some jobber finisher no doubt...
Lavelle jogs backwards, nonchalantly hitting the ropes and resting there as Shipley positions himself by Facey’s legs. The crowd suddenly start to cheer wildly as they realise what’s coming. Shipley looks back, confirming Lavelle’s readiness, and catapults Dick through the air just as Lavelle flings himself off the ropes and leaps with a jumping spear! Lavelle and Dick connect in mid-air, Lavelle hitting Dick square in the mid-riff as their combined momentum causes them both to fall. Lavelle rolls away, cradling his neck, as Shipley immediately covers the stunned Dick.
Dave Kern: THE MOMENTUM KILLER!
Jeff Marx: Not another stupid catapult!
Steven Smith: Lavelle almost cut Dick clean in half! A brutal clash of bodies!
Jeff Marx: Kind of like anal sex...?
ONE!
TWO!
THREE!
Dave Kern: And it’s over already!
Jeff Marx: Dick tried to go it alone but without Wade just couldn’t hold out. A stupid catapult-spear thingummy wins it for the posers...
Shipley smiles broadly as he stands straight, looking down at the still motionless Dick with glee. As his arm is raised, he looks around for Lavelle – and realises that his partner is still down. Shipley quickly rushes to his assistance.
James Brunt: The winners... THE ACADEMY!
Dave Kern: That is, I guess, the end of the Unfuckable Team Invitational Tour Bonanza! A blessing, I suppose...
Jeff Marx: On the contrary! We only got to see one match of what would have been a pretty entertaining sequence – and this one hardly counts since O’SHEA CHEATED THE UNFUCKABLES OUT OF A WIN!
Dave Kern: You can protest it all you like, Jeff, but the fact is that The Academy were the winners tonight. Unfortunately, it looks as if Transatlantic champion Pierce Lavelle hurt himself performing that devastating jumping spear that absolutely knocked it out of Adam Dick.
Steven Smith: Somebody get some help!
Book Burning
FEATURING: THE FURIOUS FISTS OF GOD
AUTHOR: SAM
The scene opens with the camera in the parking lot. In the distance there is a fire outside of the arena with a large group of men and a truck next to it. As the camera grows closer, all the men are throwing books into the fire, cheering and jeering as they go. Nearest to the fire are Tim and Liam Martin, who are watching it burn with a smile on their face. Out from behind the camera, though, Bruno Hague and his security pals are running towards the fire, calling out.
Bruno Hague: Hey! Stop that! What are you doing?
Bruno, Taz, and Butch all stop short as they see they are grossly outnumbered. All the men around the Fists are white males with the look of piss and vinegar strung on their face. They all stop what they’re doing and strike a glare towards the security guards.
Jeff Marx: Intelligent question of the day by Bruno Hague! I’ll give them credit…they are only security guards.
Tim Martin: Hmmm…let’s see…well, it LOOKS like a book burning…but, hey, maybe we’re having some afternoon tea. Care to join?
Dave Kern: Sounds like you, Jeff.
Jeff Marx: No, actually it sounds like Tim Martin. But nice try.
Dave sighs.
Bruno Hague: Fuck you, Martin, you’re gonna have to get out of here. I’ll tell Harber you assholes forfeit via…erm…bonfire in the parking lot.
Tim Martin: Um…fuck me? Well, gee, you hear that, Eagles? This big man here said he wanted to have his dick in my anus…
Steven Smith: ME TOO! ME TOO!
Jeff Marx: Hey, I think I might have his number, Steven!
Steven Smith: Really?!
Jeff Marx: Yeah! Well…No. Sorry, no gay numbers here.
Tim Martin: Now…let me inform you three homos and (looks at the camera) the rest of these Lord-loathing loonies who refer to themselves as fans of the AWC. These books here, they all have some kind of aspect to them that the Lord hates. Like…this one, for example…
Tim picks up Maya Angelo’s I Know Why The Caged Bird Sings.
Dave Kern: That’s not a bad book at all.
Jeff Marx: Yeah, too bad she made 40 million other books that were pretty much that story with a different title.
Liam Martin: Throw it in, Tim! Jesus, it’s not even CLOSE to being on fire!
Tim Martin: Shhh, wait, Liam, please. This is Books You Shouldn’t Read 101, and I’m the teacher. Professor Martin…sounds nice, doesn’t it? Anyways, Maya Angelo wrote this God awful book.
Bruno Hague: What’s wrong with that? Isn’t it all about God?
Dave Kern: He’s got a point there.
Jeff Marx: Doesn’t matter…even though Martin is as dull as speaking with Smith for five minutes…
Steven Smith: HEY!
Jeff Marx: I’m still sure he’ll think of some reason why it is not fit for…um….The Lord.
Tim Martin: Yeah, it is…some heathen, black loving God! That is NO GOD that I know of. See ya!
The book is thrown into the fire and, immediately, makes a small little burst of flames.
Bruno Hague: Ok, that’s it, you’re coming with me, right now!
Bruno takes a step, but simultaneously, all the men around the Martins draw guns from their pants and aim them at Bruno. Bruno takes a step back, as does Taz and Butch.
Liam Martin: Where are we going? The only place you fools are heading to is the morgue if you touch us. So, if you don’t mind…we have some books to burn.
The three men glare at the group, but then turn and walk away. As the camera begins to follow them…
Tim Martin: (off camera) Wait, wait, wait! Camera man! Come back here!
The camera turns around to see Tim with a huge smile, waving the camera over. The camera walks back.
Tim Martin: Jesus, this truck isn’t even CLOSE to being full. And class isn’t even CLOSE to being over! Don’t get antsy on me now!
Dave Kern: I feel for whoever is behind that camera.
Jeff Marx: Could be worse. You could be sitting next to this fruit.
Steven Smith: I’d probably be a banana…for obvious reasons…
Kern and Marx: …
Tim Martin: Now, let’s see what’s next on the reading list, shall we?
Tim reaches into the truck and grabs Dr. Seuss’ One Fish, Two Fish, Red Fish, Blue Fish.
Jeff Marx: More collegiate level reading, I see.
Tim Martin: Now, I know what you’re all going to say…”Dr. Seuss! He was so cool! Blah blah blah!” Well, guess what, hippies? It’s only you and the homos who read his shit, so…see ya!
The book is thrown into the fire. Tim reaches and grabs another, pulling out one of the Harry Potter novels.
Tim Martin: Harry Potter…witchcraft? Would the Lord smile upon reading this book? NO! In fact, I bet he’s crying right now! Jesus, give him a tissue!
The book is thrown into the fire. As Tim grabs another book, a police car is seen veering in.
Police Megaphone: POLICE! YOU’RE UNDER ARREST!
Bystander: Oh shit, run!
Liam Martin: We can take the fuckers…
Tim dope slaps Liam.
Tim Martin: You fucking nuts? We can’t kill cops! Besides…did you want to clean this shit up?
Liam Martin: Yeah…good point.
After that, the two book it out of there, with the scene closing with the two police men exiting the vehicle and looking at the burning fire.
Dave Kern: Well, thanks to the Fists we have some police at the stadium! That’s all we need!
Jeff Marx: Maybe I can get a thing of “Do Not Cross” tape for protecting my ass from this fruit…
Steven Smith: Oh, Jeff, you know I don’t like pitching! JEEZ!
Dave Kern: Sigh…
Arrival Upon Departure
FEATURING: SARAH KENNEDY, JOHNNY NOBLE, RACE ALEXANDER, CONNIE
AUTHOR: RON
Dave Kern: I am being told that our own Sarah Kennedy…
Jeff Marx: Who will put out to me later tonight…
Dave Kern: (ignoring Jeff) …has caught up with Johnny Noble, who is on his way out of the building.
Steven Smith: (crushed) But…. but… He should be taking me with him.
Jeff Marx: I’d pay him to take you with him.
The scene shifts backstage where the extremely hot Sarah Kennedy is seen approaching Johnny Noble, as he strides towards his waiting limousine.
Sarah Kennedy: Mr. Noble! Can I just get a quick reaction from you about what happened during your contact signing ceremony?
Noble stops, cracks a smile and strokes his chin.
Johnny Noble: (feigning confusion) Did something happen out there?
Jeff Marx: Yeah. You got punked on a large scale, grandpa.
Dave Kern: Shhhhhh…
Sarah Kennedy: Well, Race Alexander interrupted and disrupted the entire ceremony.
Johnny Noble: (still smirking) Who?
Sarah Kennedy: Race Alex… AAAAAAAAAGGGHHHHHH!
Sarah suddenly dives out of the way, as Race Alexander enters the scene from off-screen left, and smashes the totally blind sides Johnny Noble in the skull with the hard, metal tank portion of an industrial fire extinguisher.
---> CLANK <---
Dave Kern: OH MY GOD!
The fans explode into a chorus of boos as Noble, who never saw it coming, goes down like a ton of bricks. His eyes roll back into his head as blood spews forth from a wicked gash on his forehead, as he lies motionless on the concrete.
Dave Kern: SOMEONE GET SECURITY OUT THERE, BECAUSE RACE ALEXANDER HAS JUST ASSAULTED JOHNNY NOBLE IN THE PARKING LOT!
Alexander drops the fire extinguisher as Connie joins him. The two of them share a laugh as the blood flows from Noble’s head.
Dave Kern: THOSE TWO ARE SICK AND DESERVE EACH OTHER!
Jeff Marx: NONSENSE! THEY RULE!
Alexander bends down and holds up Noble’s head in his hands. He pulls himself within centimeters of Noble’s bloodied face, as the legend’s eyes roll back and forth in semi-consciousness.
Race Alexander: (seething) As the girl was saying, the name is Race Alexander.
Alexander lets go of Noble’s head, which crashes down to the concrete. The crowd from inside the arena boos.
Dave Kern: WHERE THE HELL IS SECURITY?!
Jeff Marx: Probably watching from a monitor backstage, enjoying every minute of this.
Steven Smith: MR. INCREDIBLE IS HURT! I SHOULD GO COMFORT HIM!
Race stands up as the crowd continues to boo, and holds his arm out to Connie, she takes his arm, and the pair walk arm and arm towards the waiting limousine. Race turns to Connie and pulls her in close.
Race Alexander: Baby, we may have come in a cab, but we are leaving in a limousine.
Connie: (choking up with emotion) We have finally, really, arrived, haven’t we?
Race smiles and nods, then escorts Connie into the limo. Race begins to climb in behind, then takes a moment and looks back and the bloodied Johnny Noble, who is struggling to figure out where he is. Races smile curls into snarl and his eyes fill with hatred as he looks over at the battered legend. After a few moments, the smile returns to his face and he closes the door.
Dave Kern: DID YOU SEE THAT?! THAT SCUMBAG IS PROUD OF WHAT HE HAS DONE!
Jeff Marx: AS WELL HE SHOULD BE! HE DID THE WORLD A FAVOR!
The limousine slowly pulls off screen right and out of the parking area. Sarah Kennedy rushes over to check on the bloodied and confused Johnny Noble, and calls out for a medic, as the scene fades to black.
A Just Reward
FEATURING: DAVID "PEARL" HARBER, TIM SHIPLEY, ???
AUTHOR: PIERRE HYDE
Dave Kern: With all our scheduled matches done with, I'm not entirely sure why we’re still on the air, so all that remains is for me to say –
Kern stops abruptly as “Bohemian Like You”, the music for David “Pearl” Harber, begins to play.
Jeff Marx: Ha! Someone didn’t read his primer.
Dave Kern: (flustered) I must have missed it... this must be an announcement on the future of the Alliance titles!
Jeff Marx: Wrong again, numbnuts; Shipley’s getting the key to his case.
Dave Kern: (flicking through his papers desperately) Why don’t I have this?!
Harber bursts through the curtain, a flashy white suit, black trousers and white tie indicating a particular confidence in himself tonight. The fans are happy to be getting this “bonus” announcement following the conclusion of all tonight’s matches, and some start to cheer the name – and others the nickname – of the popular Entertainment Manager.
James Brunt: Making his way to the ring... DAVID “PEARL” HARBER!
Steven Smith: Ooh, he’s got the air of authority about him. I love a man who’ll tell me what to do.
Jeff Marx: Like me? SHUT UP Steven!
Steven Smith: You cut me deep, Jeff... but Boca Del Inferno can go deeper –
Dave Kern: Folks, I do apologise for Steven’s crude imagery tonight, you’ll have to forgive him, it’s his first night back on the job –
Jeff Marx: DON’T SAY A WORD SMITHY.
Steven Smith: Phallus?
Pearl quickly scales the ring steps and enters the ring. Before he can even say a word, the arena lights shut off and the piped voice announcing Tim Shipley’s return sounds over a current of noise feedback.
”Please welcome: Tim Shipley. Error. Does not compute. Does not compute...
Jeff Marx: And I am thoroughly right. Take that, Dave!
Kern is still flicking through his papers.
Dave Kern: I don’t understand! I'm sure I put everything in order!
Steven Smith: (muttering to Marx) You took his last sheet, right?
Marx nods, curling his lip, as Shipley appears on the stage, his Frontier title belt around his waist and the blue briefcase he won at Triangles in his right hand. He looks exhausted but is making an effort for the crowd after his main event match just moments ago. Shipley hurries down to the ring, knowing they are short on time.
Steven Smith: Shipley looks shapely! Shame about the face...
Jeff Marx: He brought his briefcase to the party. The contents have been under lock and key for over a week...
Dave Kern: I don’t know how he’s lasted this whole time without knowing!
Jeff Marx: Heh, it’s only going to be a massive anticlimax anyway. Like they’d give anything worth much to AWC’s jobber king.
Dave Kern: Define “jobber”, Jeff. If my calculations are correct Shipley has now won seven matches in a row...
Jeff Marx: All dusty finishes!
Kern lets out a snort of derision, but before the pair can bicker any further Shipley’s music ends and he goes through the ropes into the ring. He nods to Pearl, who responds with a smile of greeting. Shipley passes his briefcase to James Brunt, who in turn passes a microphone to David Harber.
Pearl: You’ve been great tonight here in Newcastle!
The Geordies can’t help but cheer, despite Harber’s slightly dodgy pronunciation of their town’s name.
Pearl: Eleven days ago at Triangles you saw one of the DAMNEDEST...!
Cheer.
Pearl: MOST SHOCKING...!
Cheer.
Pearl: And downright BEST matches in AWC history!
Slightly extended cheer.
Pearl: But we didn’t quite get closure on that chapter. Pierce Lavelle came out of Triangles with his Transatlantic title!
Cheer.
Pearl: Jack Murphy came out with the Grand Slam Package!
Boo...
Steven Smith: I've got more interest in his six-package...
Pearl: And Tim Shipley came out of that match with the mystery prize!
Jeff Marx: Alright alright, we know what’s going on. GET TO IT, FOOL!
Harber turns to motion at the blue briefcase with a silver question-mark on one side of it. Brunt raises it up high.
Pearl: A blue briefcase... a LOCKED blue briefcase! Eleven days, Tim Shipley has waited to see what’s inside. Now, IN THIS VERY RING, Shipley will finally get the reward he has earned!
Pearl nods approvingly as some chants of ”SHIPPERS!” (clap clap clap) “SHIPPERS!” (clap clap clap) grow in volume.
Pearl: AND HERE IS THE KEY!
Harber whips a key out of his pocket and hands it to Shipley. Shipley goes immediately to insert it into the lock on the case, the top of which the ring announcer is now holding towards him, but Pearl stops him.
Pearl: Tim... what are you hoping is inside that case?
Harber points the microphone at the beleaguered Shipley, who clearly wasn’t expecting to have to speak.
Tim Shipley: Er... that’s a tough question... something – something that’s worth it.
Steven Smith: Cryptic.
Jeff Marx: Bullshit.
Pearl: What do you think might be in there?
Harber seems keen to prolong the interview, now that the ceremony has the attention of 8,000 fans in the Telewest Arena.
Shipley shrugs.
Tim Shipley: Well, something electrical obviously...
Harber frowns.
Pearl: What do you mean?
Tim Shipley: Well – er – there are wires sticking out of it.
Harber peers closer, astonished, and as the camera closes in, we can sure enough see the copper alloy of three thin wires, stripped of their insulation, poking sporadically out of the case. It was clearly locked shut in a hurry.
As Pearl examines the case, Shipley slides the key into the lock, but Harber shoots out a hand to grab his arm, slowly shaking his head.
Pearl: D – d – d-don’t...
White-faced, Harber turns away and looks, horrified, up at the rafters.
Dave Kern: What is Pearl playing at? He packed that case himself!
Jeff Marx: That’s a bomb in there!
Dave Kern: A bomb? Don’t even say the word. That’s sick. Even the thought of it...
Steven Smith: You know, he could be right.
Dave Kern: WHAT? But why... why would Pearl put a bomb in the case and then act shocked when Shipley saw a wire sticking out?
Jeff Marx: Oh, YOU MORON. You really think that’s the same case Pearl packed?
Steven Smith: What if Shipley brought a different case in, to blow everyone up...
Jeff Marx: And himself? Nice one, fool.
Steven Smith: You’re right... And he wouldn’t really have pointed out the wires if he was planning to blow it up...
Dave Kern: It’s not a bomb, for crying out loud! Folks, do not be alarmed, do not switch off your TV sets...
Shipley goes over to Pearl, a shocked and confused expression on his face as he says something to the Entertainment Manager, who turns to him and shakes his head. James Brunt shakily sets the case down on the canvas, but Pearl points at it and shouts something. Brunt picks it up again and holds it to his ear.
Jeff Marx: IT’S TICKING!
Dave Kern: No, that’s not it – he’s just – checking it’s all going OK –
Jeff Marx: WAKE UP AND SMELL THE BOMB, DAVE!
The crowd erupt into a frenzy of activity as they all suddenly catch on, some scrambling for the exits and others staring in open-mouthed wonder as the ring announcer puts the case down again, shaking his head to Harber: no ticking.
Dave Kern: I told you it wasn’t a bomb!
Jeff Marx: Not all bombs are timed.
Steven Smith: True. You can get ice cream bombes, bom-boms from France, sex bombs...
A sound technician bursts through the curtain, sprinting full speed for the ring with his headset on. He reaches the ring and flies straight in, but Harber shoos him away, realising suddenly that the electrical equipment he is wearing could trigger an explosion if the case does in fact contain a bomb. The techie waves him away impatiently and grabs the microphone.
Techie: He – he came earlier and – and told us to show this right after “the bang” or... or he’d kill our family!
The terrified techie looks into Harber’s eyes as he tells the world of his plight.
Pearl: WHO did? WHO told you to show WHAT?
Suddenly, the video screen crackles into life to show the back seat of a moving car. The night sky can be seen out of the rear window, and a subtitle indicates that this feed was recorded THREE DAYS AGO. The text fades, and as we pass a street lamp, its light passes over the man seated in the back, identifiable as Tony Aliso. A second subtitle appears: ARRIVING AT AWC HEADQUARTERS, LONDON, ENGLAND. Aliso now pulls something onto his lap from the floor: a briefcase. He pushes the button above his head to turn on the lights in the back of the car, and now we can see everything a lot more clearly. Aliso is attired in a sharp pinstriped suit, his hair immaculately gelled, and the briefcase on his lap is blue, with a silver question-mark emblazoned on the side.
Aliso looks into the camera, a creepy smile on his face.
Tony Aliso: By the time you see this, Tim, you’ll be dead... so you won’t be seeing it at all!
The Breaker laughs at his own joke, but no one in the arena watching the screen seems to find it remotely funny.
Dave Kern: And everything falls into place...
Jeff Marx: Hate to say I told you so.
Aliso turns the case around so that the top faces the camera, takes a key out of his front pocket and slides it into the lock, turning the key gently. The case clicks open, and the man who was thought dead until his sudden appearance at AWC Testimony seven weeks ago withdraws the key to replace it in his pocket. Aliso gently eases the case open and props it up so we can all see the contents.
Tony Aliso: That’s right. Three kilograms of plastic explosive. That’s what just went “bang”... I wonder how many are even watching me. I wonder how many died in the blast... maybe Pearl went down too. That’s a nice thought.
Aliso grins.
Dave Kern: This man is sick!
Steven Smith: He’s also a complete idiot, as he’s just confessed on video to attempted murder.
Dave Kern: That, my – er – friend? – is a good point.
Tony Aliso: So I guess that’s the end of AWC, huh? I guess I’ve ruined enough lives for you, and you’re all watching this in shock. “Tony Aliso is sick!” “Tony Aliso will face the electric chair for this!”
Aliso puts on a high-pitched voice, mimicking the hypothetical protesters.
Tony Aliso: (spitting his words out) Do your best. Send every man and every lady from every police force in America – in the world! Because you. Won’t. Find. Me.
Aliso pauses, narrowing his eyes at the camera lens.
Tony Aliso: Ever!
A broad smile from the LA man.
Dave Kern: What drove him to this... what could have possessed the man who used to thrive on the cheers of the fans...
Jeff Marx: Success! Revenge! Achievement!
Dave Kern: (in a hollow voice) Jeff, if I didn’t know better I’d say you were happy about this. We have a bomb just yards away from us... and while a police defusal team has arrived, you’ll forgive me for being just a little worried... a bomb! In the ring!
Jeff Marx: Ah! So now you admit it!
Tony Aliso: Knucks has taken me places I’d never have dreamed of going... and now, in return, I give Knucks the satisfaction of putting their name on this bomb. In just ten minutes’ time, my men will have successfully exchanged this briefcase for the one that currently resides under lock and key inside AWC headquarters, and then on Fresh! this coming Tuesday, Tim Shipley will turn the key in the lock, totally ignorant, not knowing that unlocking the case is all that’s needed to trigger an explosion sure to kill him... and possibly those around him...
Aliso smiles again.
Tony Aliso: And finally, the world will be rid of that brown-nosing, coattail-riding FILTH!
The Breaker stops, contemplating as he looks deep into the camera lens.
Tony Aliso: I wonder if this ever gets shown... I wonder if everything will go to plan... I wonder if Tim Shipley will ever get to breathe fresh air again... but one thing I do not wonder about is my future. And that is because it is certain. There is no way I can be caught. I challenge the police, I challenge the United States of America, I CHALLENGE THE WORLD to come looking for me! ...no trace.
The feed abruptly cuts, and we pan away from the ring, where numerous bomb disposal experts surround the briefcase. Harber, Shipley and Brunt have been escorted to ringside, where they stand, speechless, watching the action. The commentators silenced at last, the production team simply bring up the copyright notice and end the show.