Fresh! Results26th September 2006
Introduction I
FEATURING: DAVE KERN, JEFF MARX
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
A pulsating white light continually lights up the screen, as shots of many AWC wrestlers in action are shown: Aimz, Ellis Nash, AgentDash.
And even though I know
That everything might go
Go downhill from here
I’m not afraid
A quick collection of highlights from Coast To Coast 2006 flash across the screen as the song moves into its chorus. Pierce Lavelle speeding after Garbage Bag Johnny’s Segway; Josh Marquez’s giant Full House from the highest point of the boat; Mike Wade hitting David Harber with the TFW.
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: WELCOME TO THE MIGHTY RATINGS BEAST THAT IS AWC FRESH! We are just two and a half weeks away from Untouchable and my, do we have a formidable show for you tonight!
Jeff Marx: Ah, that’s a toughie. Probably not.
Dave Kern: It wasn’t a question, Jeff! London is calling and AWC is answering as tonight we come live from the London Arena – a venue Garbage Bag Johnny and AgentDash have been attempting to find all day as part of their London Underground match. They were put on a late flight into London and have been on their own right from Heathrow Airport. The first man to reach us at the London Arena wins the use of a luxury dressing room for the night...
Jeff Marx: Featuring naked Korean massage chicks!
Dave Kern: ...and the loser will not be allowed into the arena at all. Let’s have a check on how they’ve been getting on, in this throwback to August 2005’s fantastic Streets Of London match.
Garbage Bag Johnny vs AgentDash I
STIPULATION: LONDON UNDERGROUND
REFEREE: n/a
AUTHOR: PIERRE HYDE
The “Arrivals” doors of Heathrow Airport’s Terminal One are always busy, with taxi drivers holding up handwritten signs; husbands waiting for their wives; families picking up relatives. Loved ones come and go, with hugs and kisses and “How are you?” But on this afternoon, the presence of an entire camera crew just outside the terminal piques everyone’s attention. The busy factor is exacerbated and the doors are crowded to the extent that a travel-worn AgentDash and an always-worn Garbage Bag Johnny have to literally force their way through the horde to escape the terminal. Neither is carrying luggage; Dash had his sent ahead, while Garbage Bag has no need for possessions.
AgentDash: So which way from here?
Garbage Bag Johnny considers for a while, then turns around and extends an arm pointing straight back into the terminal building. AgentDash nods and heads in the opposite direction.
The match has already begun.
AgentDash: We need to stay on here all the way to King’s Cross, and then change---
Garbage Bag Johnny: Why are you telling me this?
AgentDash: I don’t know, I feel kind of responsible. I wouldn’t want to be held accountable for AWC losing its biggest asset in the depths of London, England.
Garbage Bag Johnny: Oh me neither. Luckily that Frenchman’s not with us.
AgentDash: Eh?
The two are packed onto a Piccadilly line Tube train from Heathrow Airport, heading north-east along the line that passes such glamorous locations as Hyde Park, Covent Garden and Leicester Square. Holding onto the blue railing above his head, AgentDash cranes his neck to follow Garbage Bag Johnny’s eyeline. He’s looking at one of the lucky people who managed to grab a seat on this carriage, having somehow made his way to the front of the queue at the Heathrow station. Oh, and on his lap he is supporting a china plate that looks roughly eight feet in diameter. On it is inscribed: Anglo-francais Wares Company – our biggest assiette!
On the station platform for the Piccadilly line deep beneath King’s Cross station, a sweaty and harassed AgentDash searches frantically around him for Garbage Bag Johnny. It looks like the very fear he aired minutes before has come to pass: he has lost Garbage Bag; and to AgentDash, GBJ, with all the IQ of an ant, will never find his way out this hellhole. And who will take the blame? Who will take the brunt of AWC’s frustration that their Transatlantic champion is gone, never to return? He will.
AgentDash: JOHNNY!!!
But it’s no use; as the crowd gradually thins around him and the train picks up speed again on its way to Caledonian Road, AgentDash has to accept that he’s lost Garbage Bag Johnny. Until...
Voice: Hey, Dash! Over here!
AgentDash scrambles over to the escalators and is shocked to see GBJ halfway up.
Garbage Bag Johnny: Catch me if you can!
Garbage Bag turns and sprints up the remaining steps up the escalator, finally injecting a competitive element into proceedings. Red with rage at being tricked, Dash boards the escalator, but quickly finds himself trapped behind a huge lady with fourteen shopping bags. He darts left, right, centre, but can’t squeeze past, and GBJ is disappearing from view at the top of the escalator. Throwing caution to the wind, Dash grabs the handrail, leaping out of sight of the dozens upon dozens of Mamma Mia! posters adorning the side wall and bounding up the central reservation between the up and down escalators. As he reaches the top, he leaps forwards and lands just before the ticket barriers on both feet. Pulling out his Travelcard, he plunges it into the card reader...
Guard: Stop right there! What were you thinking; do you know how dangerous that could’ve been?
Dash’s pulse quickens as he waits for the machine to spit his ticket back at him and open the gates. It’s not quick enough for him. He grabs the gate and drives his knee into it, shattering the plastic into pieces and slamming his way through, setting off an alarm as he goes. A guard at the entrance scrambles to intercept; the Agent spins into a roundhouse kick taking the guard down. AgentDash sprints out onto the pavement and goes on instinct, turning right and heading straight across the road; a moped has to swerve to avoid him and there is copious honkage from the drivers of central London. Reaching the other side of the busy road AgentDash can’t stop himself slamming straight into...
Garbage Bag Johnny.
GBJ turns and dashes aboard a bus. AgentDash goes to follow, but the red double-decker (reminiscent of The Battle Of Britain and, for some reason, a David Nicholls novel) begins to pull away and Dash is left grasping at thin air. At full tilt, he’s unable to stop himself tumbling into the road, right in the path of a taxi which brakes hard to just avoid hitting him. Dash gets to his feet, gasping for breath, and impulsively dives into the back of the black Hackney carriage.
Taxi Driver: What the---
AgentDash: Wembley Arena, and fast!
In a squeal of tires on tarmac, the taxi shoots away, and then there is calm.
And in their seats a hundred metres, a couple of streets, half a mile apart, AgentDash and Garbage Bag Johnny both simultaneously realise one thing: that they weren’t supposed to come out of King’s Cross station.
We, the viewership, can realise a few more things. We can realise that Garbage Bag boarded a bus heading north, towards Finsbury Park, rather than south-east towards London Arena. We can realise that AgentDash gave the wrong destination to the cab driver, perhaps having got mixed up with the venue for Coast To Coast a few weeks ago.
We can also realise that Hyde completely fucked up booking tonight’s show, because in actual fact London Arena was demolished three months ago. But let’s not realise that one just yet.
Introduction II
FEATURING: DAVE KERN, JEFF MARX
AUTHOR: PIERRE HYDE
Jeff Marx: They’re cheating!
Dave Kern: Well. I think we can safely say that neither AgentDash nor our Transatlantic champion is quite taking the route we expected...
Jeff Marx: They’ve both gone COMPLETELY wrong.
Dave Kern: Yes, yes they have. So let’s finish introducing the show – first talking point is the Snow ratings, in which we rose point-one of a point to 3.4, a very creditable achievement.
Jeff Marx: Creditable my ass. PRIME jumped a whole point to SIX POINT EIGHT, damn it! That’s twice our viewership!
Dave Kern: What can I say? They promised the namesake of the ratings system himself, Jason Snow.
Jeff Marx: And they didn’t deliver! Are PRIME viewers too ignorant to realise they were LIED TO! Here in AWC we’re good and honest. I think this will be a tepid show with little excitement.
Dave Kern: Herein lies the problem...
Jeff Marx: Enough about PRIME anyway! I'm sick of it, all this talk about their ‘big names’...
Dave Kern: Jeff, you like big names.
Jeff Marx: What? Oh you mean famous people, yeah, sure. But I don’t like names with more than twelve letters, see. Karina Wolfenden? Vangelus Olsig? The Illustrious Face-Eater?
Dave Kern: Tchu?
Jeff Marx: PFFF.
Dave Kern: Well if you don’t like long names, you’re not gonna be too happy about AWC’s latest signing. Take a deep breath... Machaiveli St. Romani.
Jeff Marx: I think I’ll call him Mark. That sounds fair.
Dave sighs.
Dave Kern: He’ll be debuting later on tonight folks, against our new Frontier champion Darcy Crisis! That’s Darcy Crisis versus Machaiveli St. Romani right here on Fresh!. You’ll see another debut too; Bryce Savion is new to AWC and faces Crisis’ girlfriend Aimz...
Jeff Marx: Though their relationship is a walking crisis right now. Anyway, the real story tonight is the main event, in which Ellis Nash Decrees the living fuck out of number-one contender Paddy O’Shea!
Dave Kern: That’s sure to be a mouthwatering clash. Former Frontier champion Ellis Nash against Paddy O’Shea, who has never gotten his hands on Transatlantic gold as yet, but faces Garbage Bag Johnny for it at Untouchable – an event that also features The Furious Fists Of God in a title defence against The Coalition, and one half of the Fists, Liam Martin, takes on veteran Jack Murphy in this very ring tonight!
Jeff Marx: Most importantly, the team of Emo Kid and FREDROCK~! – collectively Keep It Simple, Stupid! – is right about to make its in-ring bow in a three way...
Dave Kern: ...that features the return of Pleasure And Pain.
Jeff Marx: What?! Oh you have got to be kidding me...
One-Eyed Fred
FEATURING: KISS, PIERRE PERROQUET, CAMERAMAN
AUTHOR: JAMIE ROGERSON
We shift backstage, into a candled lit room where the "Invincible" FREDROCK~! is looking extremely tense. He is standing in the room holding a donut in one of his hands. He moves it ever so closer to his face and begins to lick the middle tenderly. After several seconds pass FREDROCK~! pulls his face out from the donut, as some of the icing rubs off around his mouth.
The camera slowly zooms in, for a close up of the donut, as suddenly two of his fingers touch the heart of it. FREDROCK~! dribbles onto them as he starts caressing the centre of the donut gently. He eventually penetrates a hole through it with his fingers and rummages inside the donut.
FREDROCK~!: Oh, Sarah… Sarah…
The camera goes back to full view. Just in time to see FREDROCK~! moving his fingers away and wiping the sweat from his brow, leaving some more icing on his face. FREDROCK~! positions himself in the corner of the room before pulling down his trunks down and mumbling something to himself.
FREDROCK~!: One-Eyed Fred time to shine.
A little spongy sound is heard as FREDROCK~! gives off a soft moan.
FREDROCK~!: So this is what it feels like?
After numerous hip actions, there is a knock on the door as FREDROCK~! calls out.
FREDROCK~!: Come in Sarah!
The door creaks open as Pierre Perroquet stands in the glowing light of doorway with his Parrot on his shoulder. FREDROCK~! turns his head and squints his eyes before smiling. He then faces the wall again as his breathing becomes more heavy.
FREDROCK~!: Hey baby, care to join?
The Parrot of Perroquet flies over and perches itself on his shoulder as FREDROCK~! gives off several more grunts and moans.
FREDROCK~!: I knew you couldn’t resist the Frock!
The Parrot rotates and shits on One-Eyed Fred as FREDROCK~! squirms in ecstasy. His feet slip from under him as he drops to the ground and wriggles around before giving off one last groan. The Parrot files back over to Pierre Perroquet.
FREDROCK~!: Oh, Sarah… Sarah…
The lights promptly turn on, as Emo Kid stands slightly unsatisfied.
Emo Kid: Come on, I was expecting a little anal.
FREDROCK~! gets to his feet and turns towards the camera, the donut slips off onto the floor, as he is now completely limp and exposed to the whole wide word.
Pierre Hyde: A well maintained bush is a happy bush!
FREDROCK~!: Hey, where did Sarah go?
They all shrug their shoulders as FREDROCK~! appears disheartened.
FREDROCK~!: They love you, then leave you.
Emo Kid: She’ll be back for more, don’t worry.
After ensuring FREDROCK~! that everything will be okay. Emo Kid cunningly picks the donut from the concrete floor and slips it into his pocket, he looks at FREDROCK~!.
Emo Kid: I’ll see you later, I have to gore my eyes out.
Emo Kid’s eyes wander anxiously around the room before he makes a hasty exit. Pierre Perroquet was intrigued by FREDROCKS~! behaviour, as it made him feel like he was back home and has stayed to ask him a few questions.
Pierre Perroquet: ‘ow confident are you about your debut in a AWC wrestling ring tonight?
FREDROCK~!: Wrestle?
Pierre Perroquet: Yes you wrestle, non?
FREDROCK~!: April Fools!
Pierre Perroquet: It’s septembre.
FREDROCK~!: You’re French, that makes me right!
Pierre Perroquet: Vous Américain manger des singes. (This is wrong. -Ed.)
FREDROCK~!: You stink!
Pierre Perroquet: You steenk more…
FREDROCK~!: You smell of cheese!
Pierre Perroquet: Donc votre minet de mamans. (I don’t even know what you’re trying to say... -Ed.)
Pierre Perroquet and The Parrot depart, leaving FREDROCK~! standing in the room with his trunks still down by his ankles. The camera unexpectedly swings away and faces the concrete floor.
Cameraman: I’ve been waiting for you to come back, Mr. Rock!
FREDROCK~!: …
Cameraman: Shh… you know what to do.
A belt buckle can be heard being undone.
FREDROCK~!: Oh, you want me to sign your ass again?
Cameraman: Yeah, but I forgot my pen this time.
FREDROCK~!: Oh, I can solve that problem.
Footsteps can be heard. The camera, which is pointing in the direction of a broom, witnesses a hand reaching down and pulling it up.
FREDROCK~!: Found it!
Cameraman: Don’t forget the playful smack.
A smack is heard.
Cameraman: YEEEEOWCH… Man, my wife never gets this kinky.
FREDROCK~!: You ready?
A deep breath can be heard being taken before a sudden thrust.
Cameraman: Aaaarghhhh!
FREDROCK~!: (panicking) Aaaarghhhh! You’re bleeding.
Cameraman: Get help, my ass is numb!
Rapid footsteps can be heard, as a door slams shut.
Cameraman: Fred… get me a kleenex!
Another camera has caught up with FREDROCK~! who is making slow progress down a corridor. Within thirty seconds he is exhausted and pulls up to catch his breath. Emo Kid comes round the corner with the donut in his mouth. He is munching away as he stops next to his teammate.
Emo Kid: Where you going?
FREDROCK~!: There’s been a accident…
Emo Kid: Stop pissing yourself then, our match is next.
FREDROCK~! is pointing to the room he left as Emo Kid strolls over and peeps round the door. The cameraman is bent over on a table with the broom still rammed up his ass. There is blood all over the table after FREDROCK~! seemingly ruptured the insides of the cameraman’s asshole.
Emo Kid: Now that’s what I’m talking about.
Emo Kid nods his head in appreciation.
Emo Kid: See that guy knows good anal.
FREDROCK~! takes in a deep breath and huffs.
FREDROCK~!: I’m nervous.
Emo Kid: Just keep it simple, stupid!
The two of them embrace and head off together to make their much anticipated debut in AWC. As the two turn the corner, Emo Kid can be seen licking the icing from FREDROCKS~! forehead.
The High Life
FEATURING: PADDY O'SHEA, JOSH MARQUEZ
AUTHORS: GARETH AND MICHAEL DOHERTY
In central London there are any number of bars, clubs and pubs to choose from. So when Paddy O’Shea invited Josh Marquez out to ‘Show him the town’, the Las Vegas native was expecting somewhere upmarket, with models on tap, somewhere he would fit right into. Instead, he ended up in O’Neill’s, a dark and common ‘Irish’ pub. He wasn’t happy.
Josh Marquez: Paddy, what the fuck is this place?! I’ve never been to Ireland but I’m pretty sure that the bar staff aren’t all Australian!
Paddy O’Shea: Ah Josh, ye’ve got t' lighten up. This is authentic Irish, sure all those Aussies came from me wee country anyway.
The expression on Marquez’s face was a mixture of disgust and pity.
Josh Marquez: I can’t believe you’d bring me to a place like this after the week I’ve had.
Paddy O’Shea: Two pints o’ Guinness. What was that ye were sayin’ ?
Josh Marquez: Would you pay attention Paddy, for Christ’s sake!
Paddy O’Shea: Aye’m sorry, was just ordering us a few pints.
Josh Marquez: I don’t care about getting a drink! I care that I got beaten by Ellis Nash last week! Again!
Paddy O’Shea: Aye, I saw that one. She’s a tough wee lady alright.
Now Josh’s face is incredulous. Seemingly his power to coerce and mould O’Shea goes out the window when the gypsy gets the scent of the black stuff in his nostrils.
Josh Marquez: It’s a fucking disgrace that she was able to beat me. AWC is still trying to screw me over.
Paddy O’Shea: Well, aye mean, fer me they’ve been alright recently.
Josh Marquez: Well, that’s what they want you to think. After all, look at the stipulations for your match with Garbage Bag Johnny, they are deliberately making it hard for you.
That was a good point, Paddy supposed, the rules of the match did seem unnecessarily complicated. Still, he wasn’t complaining, a Transatlantic title match wasn’t to be taken lightly.
Josh Marquez: Not to mention that they’re putting you in a match with Ellis this week. Hardly protecting you before the pay-per-view, are they?
Paddy O’Shea: Aye… suppose ye’ve got a point on that one.
Josh Marquez: Of course I have Paddy, that’s why I’m the brains of this operation. However, my dear pikey, this situation can be turned to our advantage.
The Guinness had arrived now and Paddy was becoming distracted again, Josh had to do this quickly.
Josh Marquez: This week, you’ve got to destroy Ellis Nash. I don’t mean just beat her, I mean take her out. Make an example out of her to show that we aren’t to be fucked with. Can you do that?
Paddy O’Shea: Aye… but I mean, does Ellis deserve that?
Josh Marquez: Of course she does! Now can you do that? For the good of us?
Paddy’s tone wasn’t exactly enthusiastic as he responded.
Paddy O’Shea: Aye, ‘spose so.
Josh Marquez: Fan-fucking-tastic. Now let’s see what all this fuss over Guinness is about.
The American grabbed his pint and took a long swig. Then his face changed from one of satisfaction to one of uncertainty, quickly moving on to horror and disgust as he bolted from his seat and headed for the gents. Paddy didn’t even notice.
KISS vs Last Word vs PAP
STIPULATION: THREE WAY DUO TAG
REFEREE: AARON DAVIES
AUTHOR: LIA
Dave Kern: Triple-tag action next!
Jeff Marx: A shut-eye opportunity? This early? Marvelous.
Dave Kern: (hotly) Jeff, this match has the potential to be something phenomenal. We have The Last Word, who are just off an impressive debut over Delta Upsilon Iota..
Jeff Marx: Impressive? Really, Dave? Really?
Dave Kern: Yes, impressive. We also have Keep It Simple, Stupid! -- known simply as KISS...
Jeff Marx: Copyright infringement, anyone?
Dave Kern: ...who. Well.
Jeff Marx: Yes?
Pause. Dave Kern: We ALSO have the return of Pleasure And Pain!
Jeff Marx: Ah, yes. Pleasure And Pain, with an -- IMPRESSIVE! -- record of 1-2-4. Why, throw a three into the mix and you have a string of consecutive integers!
Dave Kern: You know, Jeff, records aren't everything.
Jeff Marx: Oh, but aren't they?
"Underway" by The Muggs hits.
Dave Kern: Well. Technically speaking.
Jeff Marx: Yeah.
Brody Jersch and Dex Lacey march down the ramp; Jersch occupies himself by tightening the tape around his wrist, while Lacey tags the few extended hands thrusted in their general direction.
Jeff Marx: Who does that douchebag think he is? He has no fans.
Dave Kern: Was that necessary?
Jeff Marx: Is anything I ever say necessary?
Dave Kern: You raise a good point.
Jeff Marx: Your mom raises a good point.
Dave Kern: Jeff, really. These mom jokes? Not. Funny.
Jeff Marx: Dave, really? Your mom.
Dave Kern: (sighs) Never mind.
Pierre Perroquet: Ledeez and gentellmen, ze following eez a sree-way duo tag match! Eentroducing first, at a combined weight of 474 pounds... ZE LAST WORD!
Lacey, once again, greedily sponges in the audience's reaction with an arm raise; Jersch, incognizant, takes his place behind the ropes.
Cut music.
Start music.
"We Goin' Be Alright" by 112.
Jeff Marx: R&B? In wrestling? What were they thinking?
Dave Kern: 112's album is named Pleasure And Pain. For the curious at sake.
Jeff Marx: Ah. We're just going left and right with these copyright infringements tonight, aren't we?
Pierre Perroquet: At a combined weight of 451 pounds... ledeez and gentellmen, PLEASURE AND PAIN!
The Russells head towards the ring together, Wayne scowling while Tiara Belle waves jovially at the crowd.
Jeff Marx: Party pooper. FATASS. 295 pounds? Fatass.
Dave Kern: Perhaps it's muscle.
Jeff Marx: Perhaps it's fat.
Dave Kern: He's a professional wrestler, Jeff.
Jeff Marx: Yeah, a professional fat wrestler.
Wayne doesn't bother to hold the ropes for his wife; he barrels right into the ring, Tiara Belle behind him. 112's ballad languishes; Europe's "The Final Countdown" takes its place.
Pierre Perroquet: And zeir opponents... at a combined weight of 392 pounds... KEEP IT SIMPLE, STUPID!
With Brunt's announcement, Emo Kid and FREDROCK~! appear on the stage.
Yeah, like you really thought it'd be that simple.
This is what really goes down:
Amidst by far the loudest pop for all three of the teams, FREDROCK~!, clad in his trademark blue tights with a tilde on the back, bundles through the curtains first -- Emo Kid is nowhere to be found. However, this does not hinder FREDROCK~!'s intoxicating :-D-like enthusiasm; the 300 pound beast from Bedrock smacks his pasty chest with two closed fists, ever the valiant.
Then, FREDROCK~!'s display of valiant-ism is cut short...
... by his own tag team partner.
Emo Kid comes dashing through the curtains, shrieking.
Emo Kid: IT'S AFTER ME!
FREDROCK~!: What's after you, cherry?
Emo Kid: THE WORLD! THE WORLD AND ALL OF ITS HYPOCRISY! ALL OF ITS LIES! THE MISCONCEPTIONS! I CAN'T TAKE IT ANYMORE!
Wide-eyed, Emo Kid whips out a razor. FREDROCK~! rips it from his grasp and slaps him.
FREDROCK~!: STOP IT! STOP THIS NONSENSE! JEREMY HYDE, LISTEN TO ME JEREMY HYDE!
FREDROCK~! clasps Emo Kid's shoulder; Celine Dion's "Power Of Love" croons in the background.
Jeff Marx: This is ridiculous.
Dave Kern: I concur.
FREDROCK~! doesn't care.
FREDROCK~!: JEREMY HYDE, DON'T LET THE WORLD GET YOU DOWN! AS MY FAVORITE MUSICAL BAND FINE YOUNG CANNIBALS WOULD SAY: WHEN MY PLANS DON'T WORK OUT, MAMA SAYS DON'T LET IT GET YOU DOWN. NOW MY WORLD DON'T LOOK TOO GOOD, NOT THE WAY I KNOW IT SHOULD, AND MY TIME IS RUNNING SHORT, I DIDN'T DO ALL I OUGHT, BUT WHEN MY PLANS DON'T WORK OUT MAMA SAYS DON'T LET IT GET YOU DOWN.
Jeff Marx: End capslock?
Emo Kid tosses his head to the side, contemplating his tag partner's wise words. After a few histrionic moments, EK finally returns his attention to FR~! with a brave nod.
Emo Kid: OK.
FREDROCK~!: OK?
Emo Kid: OK.
FREDROCK~!: OK!
Dave Kern: Oh, for God's sake.
Fuck you, Dave Kern; FREDROCK~! and Emo Kid join elbows and meander down the ramp together joyfully, albeit Emo Kid glancing side to side at the crowd. He quickly grows irritated -- Emo Kid: STOP SUFFOCATING ME! -- but FREDROCK~! squeezes his elbow and nods at him, as if to tell him, FREDROCK~!: It's OK, Jeremy. It's OK.
Emo Kid trusts him.
They slide into the ring.
Tiara Belle nudges Wayne awake; Lacey and Jersch put a halt to their theatrical series of Rock-Paper-Scissor.
Jeff Marx: FINA-FUCKING-LLY.
Dave Kern: I concur. Again. Sans the obscenity, that is.
Jeff Marx: (high-pitched) Sans the obscenity, that is.
Dave Kern: Jeff, really. Let's just get on with it, okay?
Jeff Marx: Let's just get on with it, okay?
Dave Kern: (smacks forehead against table repeatedly)
Each team disperses: for The Last Word, Lacey takes the apron while Jersch takes the ring; Wayne ring, Tiara Belle apron, and FREDROCK~! ring while Emo Kid stations on the apron.
Jeff Marx: I hope this is what triple-duo tag match means.
Brunt takes his leave from the ring; the bell sounds. Immediately, FREDROCK~! blindly rushes towards Wayne. Immediately, this is a mistake: Wayne sidesteps and FREDROCK~! races right into the turnbuckle. However, since FREDROCK~! has no brain and thus is not rendered dizzy by the hit, he spins around with a look of rabid anger.
Jeff Marx: Oh no hell no, Wayne up and done it.
Wayne registers FREDROCK~!'s look of RABIDANGER~!'s and hesitates -- wrong choice, Wayne. FREDROCK~! rushes forward with a CLOTHESLINEFROMHELL~!
Dave Kern: OHMYGOD~! FREDROCK~! just... DID YOU SEE THAT~! FREDROCK~! JUST TOOK WAYNE RUSSELL~!'S HEAD OFF~!
Jeff Marx: No wonder they banned ~!
FREDROCK~!, rabid anger surging through his body, pivots his chin towards Jersch. Jersch, minutely terrified, decides to take the Let's-Not-Piss-Off-The-Fat-Pasty-Psycho route.
He tags in Lacey.
Jeff Marx: HAH! I love it.
Dex glares, chagrined; Jersch shrugs. FREDROCK~!'s fingers twitch. Wayne struggles to his knees. Carefully, Dex steps through the ropes. FREDROCK~! gives him not a second and, once again, charges. Dex blinks.
Dex bends.
FREDROCK~! goes over the top rope.
Dave Kern: FREDROCK~! on floor! FREDROCK~! on floor!
FREDROCK~! sprawls on the floor. Inside of the ring, Dex has no chance to build on authority; Wayne is on him the second he's up with stiff left and rights. Wayne uses his size advantage to push the smaller Lacey into the ropes and then, with a grab of the wrist, easily flings Lacey into the opposite ropes. Lacey comes bouncing back and Wayne capitalizes with a boot to the face. Lacey goes down, and Wayne tries for the quick pin.
ONE!
TWO!
KICKOUT!
Dave Kern: First pin attempt of the night!
Jeff Marx: We know.
Dave Kern: Can I not do my job?
Jeff Marx: Can you not suck at it?
Dave huffs.
Wayne, with a handful of hair, pulls Lacey up to his feet. Scoop slam. Pin.
ONE!
TWO!
Brody with the break; he drives clasped hands into the spine of Wayne, causing Wayne to roll from Lacey, clutching his lower back. Tiara Belle is in the ring at once, but to no avail -- referee Aaron Davies prevents her from interfering, while Jersch, holding his hands up, slowly backs into his and Lacey's corner.
Nobody sees the flurry sliding into the ring.
Dave Kern: FREDROCK~!
FREDROCK~!
FREDROCK~!, who splatters punches on both Wayne and Dex like warm Thursday night rain.
FREDROCK~!, who causes Lacey to hit the mat after a fourth punch.
FREDROCK~!, who causes Wayne to hit the mat after a fifth punch.
FREDROCK~!, who drives his arms into the air triumphantly.
FREDROCK~!, who causes London to come to life with a chorus of cheers.
FREDROCK~! who, on a high, goes to tag in Emo Kid.
Lia, who just went to KISS' roster page and noticed that FREDROCK~! is supposed to throw pussy punches. Thus, we will have to say: fuck consistency.
Hyde, who better not edit this with one of his dumb ( - Ed. )'s.
The match, where the tag is made; between both FR~! and EK and Wayne and Tiara Belle.
Jeff Marx: Did FREDROCK~! just tag in...
Dave Kern & Jeff Marx: EMO KID?!!!
Emo Kid looks at FREDROCK~! in horror. FR~!, blissfully ignorant towards it, climbs onto the apron.
With Lacey up, Tiara Belle in the Russell corner, and Emo Kid bounding between the ropes, an awkward picture is painted. None of them really know what to do.
Emo Kid, going on instinct, pulls out his razor blade.
Tiara Belle, however, takes the initiative; she marches over to Emo Kid, snatches away his razor blade, and smacks him right across the face. Emo Kid falls dead.
If only. Actually, Emo Kid does fall; he just doesn't die. Thus, Tiara starts stomping away at Emo Kid's anorexic chest with heavy boots. Lacey, forgotten, heads on over to join Tiara in her campaign. Together, the two stomp away on Emo Kid's scrawny frame. In response, FREDROCK~! screams at Aaron Davies. Aaron Davies pays no attention, because he's cool and laidback and doesn't give a fuck. In response to FR~!, Wayne hops from the apron, ambles over to FR~! and EK's corner, grabs FR~! by his pudgy little pig feet, and pulls them right out from under him. FR~! falls, forehead bouncing against the edge of the apron. He once again sprawls along the mat, because now his head hurts, because even though he doesn't have a brain he still has bones in his skull, and they hurt so he sprawls along the mat because his bones hurt, because he still has bones even if he doesn't have a brain.
Jeff Marx: That was mean. I'm turned on.
In the ring, Tiara Belle and Lacey continue to double-team EK; they throw his emo little body into the cables opposite of them. As EK comes bouncing back, Lacey and TB clobber EK down with double clotheslines, and as Tiara Belle goes to cover EK, Lacey pulls her off, and as Lacey goes to cover EK, Wayne comes in and clobbers him with his own clothesline, and as Wayne turns around to head back to the Russell corner, Jersch jumps at him with a Thesz press, and as Jersch starts to clobber away at Wayne with punches, AWC'S London faithfuls pop at the sudden discharge of wrestling.
Dave Kern: MAN OH MAN THINGS ARE HEATING UP! JERSCH FIRING AWAY ON WAYNE RUSSELL!
Jeff Marx: This is never going to end.
Aaron Davies breaks up the two illegals; Jersch begrudgingly detaches himself from Wayne, but not without one last punch. Concurrently, Tiara Belle stomps away on Emo Kid before grabbing a fistful of brown/purple/red hair and pulling the 92-pounder up to his feet. Tiara Belle tucks EK's head under her arm and connects with a DDT.
Pin.
ONE!
TWO!
Lacey with the break, grabbing one of Tiara Belle's feet and dragging her off of Emo Kid.
Lacey with the pin.
ONE!
TWO!
KICKOUT!
KICKOUT?
Dave Kern & Jeff Marx: KICKOUT!? No; just FREDROCK~!
Dave Kern: FREDROCK~! broke the count! FREDROCK~!'s back in the match!
Jeff Marx: But not for long -- look at Wayne!
Wayne, who barges into the ring and spins FREDROCK~! around by his shoulder; Wayne, who grabs both the back of FREDROCK~!'s tights and the back of FREDROCK~!'s neck; Wayne, who disposes of FREDROCK~! once again between the ropes; and Wayne, who this time, follows FREDROCK~! outside.
Which isn't too bright, really, because now Jersch + Lacey > Tiara Belle + Emo Kid.
Lacey and Tiara Belle are once again at a standpoint; what are we going to do with Emo Kid -- who is now curled in a fetal position and reciting My Chemical Romance lyrics to himself? (we are young and we don't care/we never wanted it to be this way....)
There is only one choice for Tiara Belle: Fuck. Dex.
As the two of them go to pick up Emo Kid, Tiara Belle suddenly grabs Lacey by his hair, pulls him up, and slaps a palm across his cheek. Lacey, startled, staggers back into the ring ropes.
Unfortunately, there is one thing Tiara Belle forgot.
Brody.
Dave Kern: BRODY JUST BLIND TAGGED HIMSELF IN!
And as Wayne pounds on FREDROCK~! outside of the ring, Brody seizes the opportunity inside of it.
As Tiara Belle goes to pick up Emo Kid, sans Lacey this time, she doesn't see Brody coming up from behind.
Waist. Arms. Belly. Back. Belly-To-Back.
Dave Kern: OH MY GOD! BRODY JUST SUPLEXED TIARA BELLE! SHE'S OUT!
But instead of pinning Tiara Belle, Brody has his eyes set on someone else: Emo Kid.
With Lacey back on his feet and the ring cleared otherwise, the moment is perfect. Jersch hauls the mumbling Emo Kid up to his own feet.
Foot to gut.
Up on shoulders.
Dex. Ropes.
Symmetry.
The noise grabs Wayne's attention.
Pin.
ONE!
Wayne. Sliding in.
TWO!
Wayne. Diving.
THREE!
Wayne. Too late.
"Underway" by The Muggs. Dave Kern: The Last Word has done it! Two wins in two weeks!
Jeff Marx: 2-0-0. At least it's better than 1-2-4. James Brunt: And your winners... THE LAST WORD!
In the center of the ring, Brunt stands between a spent Lacey and a nearly-fresh Jersch, holding their arms up in the air. FREDROCK~!, coming to, pops his head up. Seeing his fallen partner, the loyal FR~! slides into the ring and cradles Emo Kid's head in his lap, whispering sweet little nothings into his ear.
End scene. I'm tired.
Deadly Games
FEATURING: BRYCE SAVION
AUTHOR: LOCKE
“Yeah, I’m here.”
Bryce Savion spits out those words like poison to his lips. He straightens his black leather jacket, before slowly smoothing back his light blonde hair with the other free hand. Knowingly, he nods his head.
Bryce Savion: Don’t worry about it.
He replies shortly into the phone, in a nonchalant manner in which clear annoyance is simply registering on his pale face.
With a sharp flick of his finger, he slams the cover shut. Standing out a door, he stares coldly at the name plated on it. His crystal blue eyes glinting slightly in the light, he smiles.
Bryce Savion: Teresa Tomas…
Garbage Bag Johnny vs AgentDash II
STIPULATION: LONDON UNDERGROUND
REFEREE: n/a
AUTHOR: PIERRE HYDE
All is quiet on the bus. A blind man scratches his nose. A mother of three children rocks the youngest in her arms. A scrawny, spotty teenager rubs grit from his left eye. Then all of a sudden:
Garbage Bag Johnny: OOOH, LOOK! A pendulum shop! Stop the bus!
Garbage Bag, having risen to his feet in marvel to admire the splendid pendulum shop he has spied through the window, dings the stop button unremittingly, but having finally had the go-ahead from a usually effusively red light and a long way from the next bus stop, the driver becomes infuriated by Johnny’s relentless dinging.
Bus Driver: Look, there’s some kid hitting the stop button, could someone sort it out...
DING! DING! DING! DING!
Garbage Bag Johnny: STOOOOOOOP THE BUS! I WANNA BE LONELY!
Not thinking to ask where AWC’s Transatlantic champion picked up those Ben Folds lyrics, a kind but stern middle-aged man guides Garbage Bag away from the button and back towards his seat. With flailing arms, GBJ protests, but other members of the public step up to help sit the tramp back down so that they can continue their journey in peace.
Man: Calm down son. Where are you headed?
Flushed, Garbage Bag Johnny turns to inspect the gentleman seated next to him.
Garbage Bag Johnny: What? ...oh, the London Arena of course!
Blind Man: London Arena? Wasn’t that demolished?
Garbage Bag lets out a belly laugh.
Garbage Bag Johnny: Oh-ho, I think not. In fact I think you’ll find it’s on this very bus route!
Mother Of Three Children: It’s “route”. We’re in England.
Garbage Bag Johnny: Are you sure? That can’t be right, you’re all speaking properly.
Scrawny, Spotty Teenager: Oi don’t you be givin’ us da lip man, we is to be takin’ you down; Staines massive!
Garbage Bag Johnny: Would you like to borrow my handkerchief?
Scrawny, Spotty Teenager: I’ll bring arms house to yo mum’s house!
Garbage Bag Johnny: Oh, that explains everything. Just be careful not to step on my shoes, would you. Now if you’ll excuse me...
GBJ stands up and grabs something out of the luggage compartment above his head before strapping it to his back, just as the vehicle comes to a halt at the bus stop.
Garbage Bag Johnny: ...I have to go!
A split-second later, there is a great big hole in the roof. This is, of course, the bottom deck. A camera switch shows a similar hole in the roof of the bus, and also that one double-seat has entirely upturned, with its previous occupants now clinging onto the inside of the hole in the roof for dear life.
Bus Driver: Oh if he was going to do that all along why did he bother to make us stop?!
The bus drives on, minus one GBJ, and one miraculously and fortuitously placed j4tpack.
Taxi Driver: That’s twenny-free eighty guv’na.
His eyes widen at the price, but AgentDash pays up, along with a ‘hefty’ tip of one pound and twenty pence.
AgentDash: Thanks very much. I'm gonna win; it doesn’t even look like anyone’s here yet!
The driver stares at him.
Taxi Driver: Guv’na, Pussycat Dolls aren’t on till tomorrer.
AgentDash: What?
Taxi Driver: That’s right guv! They’ll just be settin’ up the arena now. Aww, don’t tell me you got the wrong day? Lessee yer ticket! Hahaha!
AgentDash: (flustered) No no, this is right---
Taxi Driver: Yer don’t look lahk a Pussycat Dolls fan eever. Where ya from? The States?
AgentDash: (breaking into a smile) Berkeley, California. And yourself?
Taxi Driver: Fuckin’ London tahhn, wojjer fink! Now I’ve gotter get ‘ome, enjoy the, ah... gig...
Sniggering to himself, the driver departs. With a look of confusion on his face, AgentDash properly inspects the arena waiting before him. There really is no one around. He checks his watch – it’s well into the show. Inexplicable. That is, until he catches sight of a noticeboard...
LONDON CULTURE
Other events you might enjoy:
25th September - Picking One’s Nose Club, Shoreditch On The Rocks
26th September - AWC Fresh!, London Arena, Isle Of Dogs
27th September -
He doesn’t need to read any further. The Agent has realised his mistake.
He’s gone to the wrong bloody venue.
Garbage Bag Johnny: Sheep’s testicles, where is it?!
Searching frantically through his pockets at the entrance to Bethnal Green tube station.
Hobo: Lost yer sheep’s testicles?
Garbage Bag Johnny: That was a figure of speech. No, no, my sheep’s testicles are perfectly safe in my inside pocket...
GBJ taps his chest to make sure.
Garbage Bag Johnny: Yes. Perfectly.
Hobo: What’ve ya lost then mate?
Garbage Bag Johnny: I seem to have misplaced my Travelcard...
Hobo: No problem mate. Sneak under.
So Garbage Bag Johnny approaches the barriers, lays down flat on his front, reaches his hands around the backs of the machines, and pulls himself along the ground, the utmost concentration showing on his face.
Guard: Er, excuse me...
Hobo: You were s’posed to wait until they weren’t looking.
Garbage Bag Johnny: Well, you didn’t tell me that!
Hobo: Alright. So watcha gonna do now?
Garbage Bag Johnny: Whatever I feel like I wanna do. Gosh!
Hobo: Yeah ‘cause a hobo’s gonna get a reference to summat ya saw at the pictures. Ya got any money?
They’re outside the station now, sitting on the pavement as the world passes by doing its best to ignore them. The world’s wife does the same, but turns her nose up, too.
Garbage Bag Johnny: I don’t understand pounds and ounces.
Hobo: They ‘ave ounces now? No one ever gave me one of those.
Garbage Bag Johnny: I suppose I could walk to the arena...
Hobo: Arena mate? Very flash. Which one?
Garbage Bag Johnny: Er, London, obviously: we’re in London.
GBJ rolls his eyes, because obviously in London, England, the London Arena has to be the London Arena and thus there can be no other.
Hobo: London Arena? Hahahahahaha! Mate that got knocked down months back.
Garbage Bag Johnny: I hardly think that’s correct.
They sit and ponder in silence.
Hobo: So... ya need anuvver ticket?
Garbage Bag Johnny: Yes, good man, I do.
Hobo: Then we need to make some moolah, fast. What’ve ya got on you?
Garbage Bag Johnny: I don’t wear cologne, it clogs the pores.
They sit and ponder in silence.
Garbage Bag Johnny: Hey I know, you could ask me what I have with me that we could use to make money to get me another Travelcard.
Hobo: ...What’ve ya got on you?
Garbage Bag Johnny: WELL, it just so happens that I have...
GBJ whips something large out of his pocket.
Garbage Bag Johnny: ...this twelve-string bass.
Hobo: A twelve-string bass?
Garbage Bag Johnny: I made it myself.
Hobo: That explains it. Can you play it?
Garbage Bag Johnny: No. Can you?
Hobo: I’ve never even ‘eard of one. So yeah, probably.
Garbage Bag Johnny: What can you play? Got any Primus?
Garbage Bag Johnny: Garrrrrrrbage Baaaaaag Johhhhhhnnnnyyyyy... Garrrrrbage Baaaaaag Johhhhhhhnnnnnnyyyyyyy...
Lexmarq
FEATURING: JOHNNY LEXICON, JOSH MARQUEZ
AUTHORS: KRIS (KLONE) AND GARETH
The camera finds Johnny Lexicon, standing just inside the arena entrance talking to an AWC security guard. Johnny's bag is slung over his shoulder, his expression twisted by irritation as the five eight hundred and eighty pound security monster scribbles in his little pad of paper. Johnny drops his bag to his side, fixes his denim jacket and sweeps the hair out of his eyes.
Johnny Lexicon: You're bull shitting me right?
Guard: Mr. Lexicon there's no mistake, the changes to the rules have been clearly posted. Ignorance is not innocence.
Johnny Lexicon: Look I'm not even booked, this can't seriously apply.
Guard: Rules are rules Mr. Lexicon, if I let you get away with showing up late soon everybody will be strolling in whenever they please. And besides, those Drakewerx guards are on my back... I'm struggling to keep my job as it is.
Johnny can only shake his head as the hawk nosed guard with a voice far to annoying to be human rips the ticket off of his pad and holds it out prominently.
Johnny Lexicon: You're gonna fine me?
Guard: You have been served, one week’s pay will be deducted from your checks, I'm sure somebody in human resources can help you work out a payment plan that best suits your needs.
The guard smiles proudly, Johnny can only look at the ticket in his hand.
Johnny Lexicon: So you don't wrestle?
Guard: No, why?
Johnny Lexicon: Never mind.
Johnny stuffs the ticket into his pocket with a choice word, throws his bag over his shoulder and walks away.
Guard: I hope we won't be having a meeting like this again Mr. Lexicon.
Johnny Lexicon: Oh that's it you girly wristed little bitch.
Johnny drops his bag and wheels around to face the grinning guard, a black radio buzzing from his left hand. His smile spreads as he undoes the button of his mace holster, fingers waggling with excitement and anticipation.
Johnny Lexicon: Fuck you cowboy.
The guard only laughs and turns away with his bird chest puffed out.
“Funny, that's exactly what your mom was saying last night. Well it was 'Me' instead of 'You'.”
Johnny turns around slowly, any amount of surprise well hidden by a frown.
Johnny Lexicon: What do you want Marquez?
Johnny grabs his bag.
Josh Marquez: Maybe I wanted to talk to you.
The camera spins around dramatically to reveal Josh Marquez looking stylish as ever, his arms folded across his chest.
Johnny Lexicon: Great, set up tea and I'll stop by later.
Johnny pats Josh on the shoulder and goes to step around him when Josh puts his hand on Johnny's arm.
Josh Marquez: Not so fast. You're going after Afeaki right?
Johnny does stop, looking over at Marquez with a hard glare. Josh doesn't flinch, neither does he soften his grip, his jaw set determinedly.
Josh Marquez: What if I wanted in?
Johnny yanks his shoulder away and squares himself against Josh, though his eye brows furrow in a frown, his lips are smiling. A little set off by the sudden reaction the ever ready Marquez settles his own shoulders, his left foot sliding over a half inch.
Johnny Lexicon: You mean like me and you?
Josh Marquez: No shit sherlock.
Johnny Lexicon: Okay here's the problem, I work alone.
Johnny holds a finger up to stop any reaction from Josh.
Johnny Lexicon: And if I didn't I'd sure as hell be chasing down somebody with a little more talent than it takes to suicide dive off of a lightning rod. And brains too, I mean what where you thinking?
Josh Marquez: Well fuck, I guess I was trying to win the match. Sure, it didn't work, but it looked fucking awesome.
Johnny Lexicon: This isn't a war effort, The Empire be damned. I want Afeaki but I want him in the ring with the honor on the line. Any animal can hunt another animal, but man devised the arena.
Josh Marquez: You're assuming that's the only reason I'm here, Johnny-boy.
Johnny twitches.
Josh Marquez: But you're forgetting the old saying - when you assume, you make an ASS out of U and ME.
Josh parts his hands with all sincerity on his face.
Johnny Lexicon: Don't call me that. But you mean you're here for another reason besides wanting revenge on Afeaki sending you school girl screaming around a boat? This should be sweet.
Josh Marquez: Oh Johnny that's a good one. My insults may be old but at least they're good.
Josh puts a finger between them.
Josh Marquez: I wasn't running, I was herding. In fact, in a round about sort of way, it's my fault you tapped out. How's that for ya smiley boy.
Johnny Lexicon: Funny way of herding Nancy. You want me man just come out and say it.
Josh Marquez: You could bring me flowers once in awhile, and a compliment wouldn't kill you.
Johnny nods with a smile and slings his bag over his shoulder.
Johnny Lexicon: Keep playing games man, it's what you're good at.
Johnny turns to walk away.
Josh Marquez: Tell your mom I'll be around later.
Johnny's middle finger appears over his shoulder.
Indecent Proposal
FEATURING: DELTA UPSILON IOTA, TERESA TOMAS, D'AVID
AUTHORS: COLBY, SONYA AND JOSH YOUNG
Colby Korver and Hank Cobb — the founding fathers of Delta Upsilon Iota — are sauntering down a backstage hallway.
Colby Korver: Alright bro, I’m gonna go try to score some of the ring rats back in catering. Are you in?
Hank Cobb:Naw man, I’m fixin’ to hit the head and then maybe do me some scoutin’ ringside.
Korver splits left down an adjacent corridor, while Cobb continues on. That is, until a distant female scream sends him sprinting ahead.
A hundred feet or so ahead, Teresa Tomas has been backed into a corner… literally. Her blood-shot eyes are glaring at the man standing before her. The man so happens to be Red Rock’s pesky tag-a-long, D’avid.
D’avid: See Teresa, I jotted down a notebook full of ideas we can do! It’ll be so fun and ooohh… I love it when you look at me this way.
Teresa Tomas: Get away from me D’avid… I’m warning you.
Teresa holds a half drunk bottle of Whiskey which she brings to her lips and swallows a long swig. D’avid bravely or stupidly, take your pick, takes a step closer to the intoxicated redneck. Backed in a corner, Teresa has basically nowhere to escape to. D’avid grins.
D’avid: Now you’re just playing hard to get. Come on Teresa. One date. You promised me... heh
Teresa Tomas: I didn’t promise you shit! Now get outta my face before I knock your teeth down your throat.
Teresa sets her nearly empty bottle on the floor beside her and places both hands on D’avid, attempting to push him out of her way. Instead, D’avid places his hands on her shoulders and rams her back against the wall. In normal circumstances, anyone could easily push this man aside, but after three-quarter’s bottle of whiskey in her system, Teresa isn’t the best of shape to do much pushing.
D’avid: Oh Teresa, I know we’re going to have a blast! I like it rough too! Now let’s go twos on a bastard! Heh…
Teresa Tomas: Get the hell off me D’avid!
D'avid shuts his eyes and begins to pout whilst swiveling his hips in an erotic fashion, when he feels a tap on his shoulder. Startled, D’avid jumps. When his eyes open, he notices Teresa is glaring at something or someone over his shoulder. He slowly turns his head and finds the 6’8, 345 pound Hank Cobb staring down at him.
Hank Cobb: I think it’s fixin’ to be time you hit the bricks.
D’avid gulps, then looks back at Teresa who has retrieved her bottle of whiskey finishing it off.
D’avid: But, she’s no lady! She’s Teresa Tomas! And she’s my date for Friday night!
Teresa instantly sprays a mouthful of whiskey all over D’avid.
Teresa Tomas: Like hell you do!
D’avid spins away from the stinging whiskey, and right into an eyeful of Hank Cobb’s chewing tobacco.
Hank Cobb: Say goodnight, little man.
Cobb easily picks up D’avid by the shirt collar and tosses him aside like yesterday’s garbage. In mid-air, D’avid screams like a girl and lands against a wall with a thud. Hank extends a hand to help Teresa to her feet.
Hank Cobb: You alright ma’am?
Teresa grabs Hank’s arm and practically leans on it as they begin a walk down a corridor. An empty Jack Daniels bottle is left in the corner.
Bryce Savion vs Aimz I
STIPULATION: SINGLES
REFEREE: SELENA SUMNER
AUTHOR: DAVE LARKIN
Dave Kern: Moving swiftly onwards with the show, and our next match pits the fiery redhead Aimz against the man no one really knows a thing about in newcomer Bryce Savion. Aimz will be looking to seal the victory here before Darcy Crisis wrestles another newcomer later tonight, as a sort of a message of intent to him after what transpired last week.
Jeff Marx: And might I say what an event it was that transpired! We were stunned into silence. Even you couldn’t speak, Dave, and you’re usually the one who does all the talking. I just make crude remarks every now and then to irritate you.
Dave Kern: Well, be that as it may, Aimz has to concentrate on her opponent tonight and not on anything else. She has to put Darcy out of her mind, or she may just be on the end of an upset here.
Jeff Marx: I like unknowns, so I’m up for Savion to win this one.
Dave Kern: Or it is because you’re a sexist a pig and hate all women?
Jeff Marx: Yeah, that too.
The AWC cameras dart down to the ring, where French ring announcer Pierre Perroquet has taken up his position. His parrot, Parrot of Perroquet, rests loyally on his shoulder.
Pierre Perroquet: Zee following contest iz a singles match, and it iz scheduled for one fall!
“Interlude 12/21” by AFI begins to play on the P.A. system, and the crowd in London give a warm reception to “The Red Raver” herself, Aimz. Aimz appears at the top of the rampway with a look of absolute confidence in her eyes. Making her way down to the ring, she stares into the camera with a pointed look, then enters the ring to a great applause from the fans in attendance.
Pierre Perroquet: In ze ring, from ‘alifax, Canada… weighing in at 147 pounds… AIMZ!!!
Dave Kern: The fans here in London really getting behind Aimz tonight!
Jeff Marx: You’d wonder why, wouldn’t you? Maybe they want in her pants! Why else would they cheer for her?
Dave Kern: You sicken me, you know that?
Jeff Marx: I aim to please, Dave.
Pierre Perroquet: And her opponent, from zumvere zat I av not been told, weighing in at an unknown numbare of pounds… BRYCE SAVION!!!
Newcomer Bryce Savion makes his way down to the ring to a decent response from the crowd in London, England. Many of the fans simply do not respond and begin chants insulting the newcomer. Savion seems unfazed by the noise around him, and enters the ring to begin the match.
Dave Kern: No nonsense approach shown here by Savion, who will definitely be dangerous here if Aimz underestimates him.
Jeff Marx: Aimz needs to understand that she can’t use sex to get her way all the time. Did you hear that, ladies? Sex is a seminal moment between two people, not a way to control them!
Dave Kern: If you don’t quit that now, we’ll be taken off the air.
Jeff Marx: Just making my point heard across the nation, and the world, for that matter.
Just before the match can begin, "Superunknown" by Soundgarden overtakes the arena.
Dave Kern: It's Crisis time!
Interruption
FEATURING: DARCY CRISIS
AUTHOR: NATE
Jeff Marx: Great, now the supposed "all-star" talent around here are missing their cues. His match is next, not now!
Well before the London crowd can gear for Darcy's arrival, however, Darcy's giant mug appears on the big screen overlooking the arena.
Darcy Crisis: First of all, Jeff Marx can go fuck himself. I know damn well when I'm supposed to come out…
Jeff Marx: *snickers*
Darcy Crisis: Secondly… hello, my dear, sweet Amy. I'm here to repay the blessed little interruption you gave me last week.
The camera pans back to reveal Darcy standing outside a doorway, just as Aimz had appeared the week before. However, the sign on the door didn't bear the name of any AWC talent… simply a portrait of a man with a disconnected head, and the word "Men" just to his side.
Darcy Crisis: No, don't worry, I'm not about to nail some floozie. But I am here to resolve this situation, once and for all. You see, ladies and gentlemen, there's a reason you don't see me and Amy together on TV very often. It's because we're not some fake-ass relationship that management drummed up to help get us over. I fell in love with the girl standing in that very ring long before she ever signed an AWC contract. I never had a problem publicly acknowledging this fact – but the way I feel about her has nothing to do with my job. At least, that's what I thought, until the shit she pulled last week.
Dave Kern: Something nobody wanted to see…
Jeff Marx: Speak for yourself, Dave! I hope someone clues us in on what happened behind that locker room door.
Darcy Crisis: It's true, Amy and I aren't on the best of terms at the moment. I thought it was something we could deal with privately… shows what I know. But I realized I have two options. I can get angry, and bitch and moan over that sorry little stunt… or I can play her own game even better than she thought. You want to turn our lives into a soap opera, Amy Campbell? Then that's exactly what we're going to do. Three weeks from now, we've got yet another pay-per-view on our hands. And I've got just the idea of how to solve our problems once and for all. The fates of Darcy Markson and Amy Campbell… will be decided by Darcy Crisis and Aimz, one-on-one, in that very ring!
Dave Kern: WHOA!
Jeff Marx: Crisis vs. Aimz? Two of the higher names on my hit list, beating the hell out of each other? It's strangely enticing, Dave!
Darcy Crisis: I like to call it the "No Love Lost" match. Pretty simple, really – if you beat me, I forgive you for everything, straight up. Things go back to the way they were… no harm, no foul, no love lost. But if I win… then it's my call. And believe me Amy, there will be no love lost when I beat your ass and put an end to the hell you've put me through for the past five years. Three weeks, Amy… see you there. And enjoy your match.
Bryce Savion vs Aimz II
STIPULATION: SINGLES
REFEREE: SELENA SUMNER
AUTHOR: DAVE LARKIN
Dave Kern: Unbelievable! Unbelievable! Crisis vs Aimz at Untouchable! This is huge!
Jeff Marx: And now with that hanging over her Aimz has a match to contest!
Selena Summer wastes no time and calls for the bell to begin the match. Aimz’ confidence is gone, and a perturbed expression crosses her features, looking totally distracted from the match. With this in the forefront of his mind Savion, the unknown in this match, makes the first move, going for a tie-up with Aimz. Aimz is pushed back into the turnbuckle pads by Savion. Savion takes advantage, following up with a knee lifted into Aimz’ stomach.
Jeff Marx: That’s it, Savion! That’s how women should be treated!
Dave Kern: Somebody shut him up, please.
Aimz looks to put Darcy out of her mind and recover from the early setback, but a body slam from Savion halts any plans she had. Savion delivers a couple of quick elbow drops to the sternum of Aimz, then drags her over to the ropes.
Dave Kern: Bryce Savion demonstrating here just how menacing a competitor he is. He’s got a game plan here and he’s not doing anything to hide it!
Jeff Marx: Look at Aimz. I can only describe her current state as pathetic. Then again, that’s where she spends most of her time – on her back!
Dave Kern: She’s got a lot on her mind, Jeff, what with Darcy’s challenge! Why can’t you just commentate and do your job, Jeff?
Jeff Marx: I am, just in a lewd and insulting way. Don’t try to change my ways, Dave. It’s not gonna work.
Savion places Aimz’s leg on the bottom rope and prepares to deliver a flying knee drop to it, but Aimz reacts to prevent this, pulling away at the last second and forcing Savion to crotch himself on the top rope. Savion’s eyes bulge as he feels the rope right in the middle of his testicles – an unpleasant experience if there ever was one. Aimz sees her window of opportunity and nails Savion with a kick to the side of the head, knocking him back into the ring.
Dave Kern: Aimz almost knocks Savion unconscious with that massive boot to the face. It’s unorthodox offense, but it works. That crotch on the top rope must have been painful.
Jeff Marx: It was about as painful as sitting here with you every week. What have I done with my life?!
Aimz goes to cover Savion, but hesitates at the last moment as the fans will her on to try a high risk move on the prone Savion. Aimz goes with her gut feeling and scales the turnbuckle to a great reception from the fans. As the cheers intensify, Aimz launches herself off the top rope, executing a stunning 450 degree splash onto Savion. The impact causes the ring to shudder. Aimz looks around, soaking up the atmosphere, then covers.
ONE!
TWO!
Dave Kern: No! Not quite there for Aimz. Maybe her showboating cost her the victory there. Kudos should go to Savion for kicking out of that move.
Jeff Marx: Aimz needs to get her head screwed on right. She’s probably well aware that Darcy Crisis is watching this backstage after the announcement he just made. She’s just trying to show off, in my opinion. Women always do that…
Savion tries to get back to a vertical base after enduring the punishment from Aimz. As Aimz comes at her opponent again, Savion surprises her with a spinning heel kick to the face of Aimz. Savion taunts her to come back for more. She obliges, and with the same result. Savion delivers a headlock takedown to Aimz, catching her in a sleeper hold.
Dave Kern: The momentum has shifted here suddenly. Aimz is in a tight spot here, but the great AWC fans are willing her on.
Jeff Marx: Why won’t they shut up? I’ve got a headache as it is – they’re just exacerbating it with their whiny cheering.
”Let’s go Aimz! Let’s go Aimz!”
The fans’ collective voices seem to inspire Aimz. Savion applies the sleeper hold to Aimz, but she slowly gets back to her feet and powers out of the submission hold. Aimz whips Savion against the ropes with great velocity, and hammers him with a springboard dropkick as he is running back towards her. Savion falls to the canvas in a heap, the wind taken out of him.
Dave Kern: What a lovely move by Aimz! It looks like she has turned this one back in her favour!
Jeff Marx: Oh, would you please shut your trap, Kern? All you’re good for is licking up to wrestlers. You accuse me of favoritism; look at you.
Dave Kern: Rant over?
Jeff Marx: Well, I –
Dave Kern: Good.
Aimz, now fired up, delivers a dropkick to the back of Savion’s head, forcing him to land between the first and second ropes. Aimz and indeed the fans sense the opportunity to finish the match.
Dave Kern: This could be… YES! Hemlock by Aimz on Bryce Savion! Look at Savion, dazed and confused!
Jeff Marx: Women… always finding ways out of things. Make no mistake, Kern. Aimz is a lucky bitch to be here at all.
Aimz, having executed her Hemlock perfectly, springs off the top rope for Dead Aim, her finishing move. The crowd rise to their feet as Sumner counts the pinfall.
ONE!
TWO!
THREE!
Dave Kern: It was academic from the first count there. Bryce Savion has been soundly beaten by Aimz tonight. What a great performance from Aimz. Putting the shadow of Untouchable to one side to recover from her surprise defeat last week.
Jeff Marx: Ah, don’t give me that. She barely did what was necessary. I think I’ll report you to Drake about your biased commentary.
Dave Kern: Oooh… you scare me, Jeff.
Jeff Marx: You underestimate me, Dave.
Aimz celebrates her victory, not paying much attention to the fans as she heads up the ramp way. She heads backstage as Savion is helped up by Selena Sumner.
Frontiered
FEATURING: DARCY CRISIS, MIKE WADE, THE EMPIRE
AUTHORS: NATE AND PIERRE HYDE
The scene opens with Darcy Crisis perusing a document, presumably a contract, in the office of Commissioner Wade. Mike Wade stands finishing a call with his back to the office door, his arms folded as Darcy glances up from the contract to look at His Swerviness.
Darcy Crisis: You drew this up awful fast…
Mike Wade: For the last time Marquez, I can’t just give you a match with Lexicon, the card tonight’s full…
Wade hangs up the phone and turns to Crisis.
Mike Wade: Well to tell ye the truth Darcy… Pearl had this contract drawn up ever since the day you signed your AWC contract. I believe ye showed up intending to have a match with Aimz all along?
Darcy Crisis: That’s right.
Mike Wade: Of course, I wasn’t the commissioner – or such a damn snappy dresser – at the time, but Pearl musta been prepared for this all along. It was just a matter of digging it out of an old drawer, slapping on the necessary stipulations and handing it over to ye.
Darcy Crisis: Wow. How awfully convenient.
And speaking of convenient interludes… in bursts Harber himself, with the massive LeVar Kintu and immortal Pierce Lavelle in tow. Crisis looks on as Harber, who is clearly perturbed, vents his frustrations toward Wade.
David Harber: Wade, you’ve crossed the line. I’ve got LeVar and Pierce here now so maybe this time you’ll...
Harber trails off, noticing Crisis’ presence. All along Wade has been listening, but hasn’t so much as turned around, ignoring the pregnant moans of the Entertainment Manager and instead electing to focus on his business at hand.
Mike Wade: Is there something I can help you with, Screamy McScreamerson?
David Harber: Booking this ridiculous match when you knew all along I needed to talk to Garbage Bag Johnny right away, and---
Mike Wade: Can it wait? Yeah, good, that’s what I thought. I’m about to sanction a huge match for Untouchable. Darcy Crisis vs. Aimz, “No Love Lost…” for the Frontier championship.
Suddenly, a look of horror appears on the face of the Darcinator.
Darcy Crisis: Excuse me?
Mike Wade: It’s perfect. Ye’re the new Frontier champion, ye’ve yet to defend the title… what better place to do it than on pay-per-view against your biggest rival?
Darcy Crisis: No.
Mike Wade: No?
A smirk appears on the face of the Entertainment Manager, clearly amused that the commissioner’s authority appeared to be undermined so easily.
Darcy Crisis: I don’t think you understand. This is a match nearly ten years in the making. I’ve waited my entire career to face Aimz in the ring, one-on-one. And let me make this perfectly clear to you – this match has NOTHING to do with the Atlantic Wrestling Club, let alone any of its precious little titles.
Now Wade looks clearly perturbed as well, glaring in the Darcinator’s direction.
Mike Wade: And when exactly did ye get the right to decide when and where yer title is defended?
Darcy Crisis: I’m not assuming anything. Believe me, if you want me to see Darcy vs. Aimz for the Frontier championship on any other night, I’ll be more than happy to acquiesce. Hell, if you want to see Darcy vs. anybody for the title, whether it’s Sasquatch over there…
Darcy glances over at Kintu.
Darcy Crisis: Or Chowderhead to my left…
Darcy looks over in Lavelle’s direction.
Darcy Crisis: Even if that scrawny POS Harber feels like lacing up the boots and stepping to me (Harber raises his eyebrows.), I’ll be there with bells on. Any other night, any other man, OR woman, I’m there. But not at Untouchable. Not against Aimz. This match is far too important. Now either you give me that, or Darcy vs. Aimz ain’t happening, Jack.
All parties in the room seem taken aback by Darcy’s demands… especially the Empire, who were just blatantly insulted by the Frontier champion. But Darcy also created the most interesting of situations… an angry Commissioner Wade now stands, for the first time, in league with The Empire, matching his anger with their own. Several seconds of tense silence pass before Wade finally speaks.
Mike Wade: Let’s get something straight, Crisis. You can make all the demands ye want, but it’s up to me to oblige them. Now then… I’ve had a moment to think it over, and luckily for you I happen to agree. You and Aimz have quite the history, and it should be a big match regardless. So I will grant your request – the Frontier title will not be up for grabs at Untouchable.
David Harber: What---
Darcy Crisis: Thank you! You see, Harber? You could learn a thing or two from our fine commissioner, and treating your talent with a little respect.
Wade clears his throat.
Mike Wade: I’m not finished. There’s something ye need to understand. That title of Frontier champion… it may have been given t’ ye, but it doesn’t belong t’ ye. It belongs to the AWC. You’ll defend that title where and when I say, so it’s time to put yer money where yer mouth is. You say you’ll gladly defend your title any night o’ the week? That’s good to hear… because you have a match tonight. And the Frontier title WILL be on the line.
Darcy Crisis: My match tonight? Against some new jack rookie?
Mike Wade: I wouldn’t go so far as to call---
Darcy Crisis: Yeah, whatever. You’re on. I’ll be your welcome wagon, title and all. Now if you’ll excuse me, ladies… I’ve got a match to prepare for.
With that, Darcy turns to make his exit from the commissioner’s office, but Harber nods to Kintu, who stops him. With a punch to the gut. Darcy Crisis, now winded and wrapped in a tight ball on the floor from the impact of the Prometheus-enhanced right hand, looks up with one eye open at a smiling David Harber, who nods first to Wade.
David Harber: How... audacious of you, Wade. I'm almost impressed. But while you as commissioner have the right to make matches, I reserve, as Entertainment Manager, the ability to make modifications as and when I see fit. And our precious little Darcy here...
Kintu gives him a thudding boot into his ribs.
David Harber: ...I don’t think he deserves a bread-and-butter title defence. So I'm overruling. Crisis won’t face Machaiveli St. Romani for the title tonight. Instead he’ll be competing in a Handicap match...
Crisis clenches his teeth and tries to push himself up from the ground; LeVar Kintu flattens him once more.
David Harber: You will face Machaiveli St. Romani, and Juggernaut Kintu, and – well I was going to say Gabriel Afeaki, but God knows where Gabs is at...
Harber looks up at Pierce Lavelle, who is quick on the draw with a suggestion.
Pierce Lavelle: Johnny Lexicon and Josh Marquez? They’ve been desperate for a match all night.
Harber’s expression turns to a pleased grin.
David Harber: Good call. Johnny Lexicon, and Josh Marquez. Four on one, Darcy! Including this monster!
THUMP as Kintu kneels to grab Crisis’ head and slam it against the ground.
David Harber: How does that sound? And as regards the title... whoever pins you, they’ll be the one getting the title opportunity, next week on Fresh! Sound good, Darcy?
Crisis makes an indecipherable noise. But what is most interesting is the reaction of Mike Wade, who looks sternly at Pierce Lavelle, and then at David Harber.
Mike Wade: Sounds good to me.
David Harber leads his imperial guard out of the office, and after a pause to look down on Darcy Crisis, Mike Wade too leaves his office.
Mike Wade: Hey Mickey! Mickey, where are ye, I’ve got some Cheetos that need sharing!
Garbage Bag Johnny vs AgentDash III
STIPULATION: LONDON UNDERGROUND
REFEREE: n/a
AUTHOR: PIERRE HYDE
Finally. Finally finally finally finally, AgentDash’s Docklands Light Railway train pulls into the Crossharbour station. He’s here.
Failing to recognise that London Arena is now empty space and soon to be a large residential development, AgentDash instead sees a large, state-of-the-art arena, from which the boom of bass can be heard even at this distance. The car park is full; the big marquee displays the electronic message: ACW FRESH SOLD OUT. Grimacing at the acronym error, AgentDash walks briskly towards the arena, breaking into a jog. He glances around him, but there’s no sign of Garbage Bag Johnny. Still, Dash went to entirely the wrong part of London: the Transatlantic champion has probably been here a good half-hour.
Dash bypasses the front entrance, instead going round the side towards the backstage entrance. The Drakewerx guards are but thirty metres away... now twenty... all he has to do is show them his ID, then he’ll be waved through the gates and be able to go through the door to the arena, at which point he will learn his fate.
AgentDash: Any sign of Garbage Bag Johnny?
He knows it’s a long shot to expect any kind of cooperation from the Drakewerx guards, but he’s riding on a high just as any man does after finally completing a difficult journey, and to his surprise one guard turns his forearm up to display a virtual console embedded in his protective gear. He presses a few buttons and scans down the screen.
Drakewerx Guard: Garbage Bag Johnny has not arrived yet.
Dash’s eyes light up. This is it. This is his chance.
The door opens, just a few metres past the gates. It’s Sarah Kennedy who opens it.
Sarah Kennedy: I'm standing here at the back entrance of the arena as we await the conclusion of the London Underground match, and it’s AgentDash standing right at the security gates. He’s just seconds away from taking an historic victory over Garbage Bag Johnny, which would make it two big wins in a row for AgentDash and surely put him in line for some sort of title shot. It’s a formality now as he hands over his ID card to the g---
And that’s as far as she gets, because just then, a loud buzzing begins to emanate from somewhere behind or indeed above London Arena. Its crescendo is quick and the interviewer looks up above her, and behind and around her, desperately trying to find the source of this disturbance. AgentDash senses something’s up, and rushes through the security gates... Then Kennedy’s knocked off her feet. And Garbage Bag Johnny stands in the doorframe.
Garbage Bag Johnny: Sorry, pal. Can’t come in.
AgentDash: You cheated! You used your j4tpack! They’re banned in AWC!
Garbage Bag Johnny: Oh sorry. But there’s no referee here to disqualify me, so, guess that’s your bad luck.
AgentDash: And you took a bus! It’s... it was supposed to be a London Underground match!
Garbage Bag Johnny: They gave us a Day Travelcard! A Day Travelcard is valid both on the Underground and on b--- oh what am I trying to prove?; you took a taxi!
AgentDash: Er... but not in the right direction; I was, er, trying to give you a head start...
Garbage Bag Johnny: Oh, do shut up.
Garbage Bag Johnny walks into the arena, and slams the door behind him, eager to see the luxury dressing room he has won himself. AgentDash slumps to his knees. All that effort. So close, yet so far.
And now for the long trek to his hotel...
Dirty Feckers
FEATURING: PADDY O'SHEA, JOSH MARQUEZ
AUTHORS: GARETH AND MICHAEL DOHERTY
Paddy O’Shea was taking it easy backstage in the arena, talking and joking with a few of the arena staff, despite the fact that neither party could understand a fucking word the other was saying. What the fuck does ‘me old china’ mean?! The atmosphere was relaxed though, putting O’Shea in the right frame of mind before his match against Ellis Nash later. Well, it was relaxed until Josh Marquez ran up to Paddy, out of breath and with a wild-eyed look plastered across his usually smug face.
Josh Marquez: Paddy! Come quick!
Paddy O’Shea: Wha’ ?
Josh Marquez: Something’s happened in your locker room, it looks like it’s been ransacked!
Paddy O’Shea: Ye serious?
Josh Marquez: Yes I’m fucking serious, why would I joke about something like that?! Now come on.
Then they were gone, Paddy running along beside Josh as they returned to the scene of the crime. Fortunately it was only a short journey to the Irishman’s locker room, a locker room which looked like the proverbial tornado had hit it.
Josh Marquez: See what I mean! Is there anything missing?
O’Shea was rifling through his bag as Marquez asked this and when he didn’t reply, Josh asked again.
Josh Marquez: Paddy, did you hear me? Is there anything missing?
The gypsy stops his search, throwing his hands to his head.
Paddy O’Shea: Me lucky charms! They’ve took me lucky charms!
Josh Marquez: Why the fuck were you carrying a box of cereal with you?
Paddy O’Shea: Not cereal ye fecker! Me lucky charms!
Marquez is puzzled and inclines his head towards O’Shea as he waits for a proper explanation.
Paddy O’Shea: Me Granny’s wedding ring, me da’s necklace, the rabbit’s foot I’ve had since I was 7! They’re all gone!
Josh Marquez: Okay, carrying that shit around is stranger than carrying around cereal.
Paddy O’Shea: Who would do this?! It’s no’ right!
Josh Marquez: Must be someone who wants to throw you off your game tonight.
Josh leaves it there, leaving the obvious unsaid. After a moment’s thought, realisation dawns on Paddy’s face.
Paddy O’Shea: I’ll break her feckin’ legs!
Josh Marquez: Now Paddy, let’s not be hasty, maybe it wasn’t her. Tell you what, why don’t you stay here and calm down for a bit, then we’ll go see her together in a while, okay?
Paddy O’Shea: Aye, alright.
Josh Marquez: Good. Now don’t go anywhere, I’ve got my match and then I’ll be back soon.
The gypsy nods his head in understanding as Marquez leaves the room, his mouth upturned in a humourless smile.
A Bitch Too Far?
FEATURING: THE EMPIRE, TRACY STANTON
AUTHORS: MIKE S. AND PIERRE HYDE
The Empire, save Gabriel Afeaki, sit in their precious skybox feasting on the finest of foods. They seem to be in a good mood after last week and what they accomplished, mainly in assaulting Chainz and sending him to the hospital.
Kasidy Drake: And there’s still no word on Afeaki?
Harber shakes his head, and Dr. Drake tuts.
Kasidy Drake: Boys I’ll admit I’ve had some doubts about you, but last week was just glorious. Seeing that madman Chainz beaten into a bloody pulp was just perfect.
David Harber: It’ll teach him, he still thinks he’s in power. He never showed me respect and I couldn’t do a damn thing about it, but now we’ll beat it into him.
Pierce Lavelle: You sure that’s a good idea? I know Chainz and it’s going to take more than that beating to keep him down.
David Harber: Are you scared of him?
Pierce laughs it off, though there must be a tiny bit of truth to it.
Pierce Lavelle: I’m not scared of him, I’m just not foolish. I don’t want to fuel his rage and give him reason to come back at us.
Kasidy Drake: Let him. LeVar will smash him, like last week.
Drake gives the Juggernaut an appreciative pat on the shoulder. Kintu keeps his head down and carries on eating.
David Harber: That’s right, I hope he does come back after us. I want to see him get his ass beat again. I could never tire of seeing him get what’s coming to him.
The door of the skybox happens to be open and the members inside can’t help but see Tracy walk by, or more accurately get a good look of her protruding breasts in her tight red tank top.
David Harber: Speaking of which...
David Harber quickly moistens his lips as he quickly exits the skybox followed by the rest of the Empire.
Tracy walks away from the skybox, not aware that she’s been followed like a piece of meat.
David Harber: Hey, lady with the nice ass!
She stops and turns with a shocked look in her face. Who would be stupid enough to hit on her knowing who her fiancé was?
Tracy: You! What do you want?
There is a swagger in Harber’s step; it seems showing off to his fellow Empirates is his new forte.
David Harber: Well I see that Mr. Sloan isn’t present tonight and I figured you could use some company.
Tracy: Please, you’re the last person I want to see tonight.
David Harber: Ahh come on now, don’t give us the cold shoulder.
Tracy turns and begins to walk away but finds herself surrounded by Kintu, Lavelle, and Drake.
Tracy: Umm, excuse me…
She tries to push past Kasidy Drake, whose hand somehow wraps itself around one of Tracy’s enormous breasts. Tracy slaps his hand away.
Tracy: You touch me and I’ll sue you for sexual harassment.
Harber laughs.
David Harber: Like anyone would believe a whore like you.
Tracy: Whore? I’m not a whore!
David Harber: Please, we all know the kind of women Chainz dates.
She has a pissed off look about her.
Tracy: He’s my fiancé and he’s the only man I’ve ever been with.
She faces Pierce, who is the only one who doesn’t seem to be enjoying himself.
Tracy: How can you stand there and be a part of this? I thought we were friends.
Lavelle swallows and looks away, choosing his words.
Pierce Lavelle: We were never… friends. I only… tolerated you because I had to. You’re just a – just a big tittied bimbo who’s nothing but a tease.
Tracy: Is this how you talk to Sarah? No wonder the girl’s all screwed up lately.
This obviously stings Pierce a bit.
David Harber: Ooohhh, she got you Pierce.
Pierce Lavelle: Shut up.
David Harber: Alright, enough of this chit chat. I’ve got to get back to the box…
Harber walks past Tracy, shooting his hand out to cop a feel as he goes, but she steps aside and slaps him hard across the face. Harber chuckles a bit as he feels his cheek.
David Harber: This kitten’s got claws.
He pushes her into Lavelle, who pushes her into Kintu. The big monster looks down at her and forms a smug grin. She kicks him in the shin. It does nothing, but irritates the medicated freak. Out of nowhere he takes a wild swing and hits Tracy right in the face. She crumbles like a house of cards and falls to the ground. Her tiny body lies underneath the mass of humanity that is The Empire.
Pierce Lavelle: What the hell!
Pierce Lavelle leaps over and pushes Kintu away as a stunned Harber looks down at Tracy on the ground. A small trickle of blood starts streaming from the corner of her eye.
David Harber: Shit.
A look of panic sweeps over him as well as Pierce Lavelle. The two know that the one thing that Chainz loved and cared about was now bleeding thanks to the Empire.
David Harber: LeVar, what the hell did you do that for?
Lavelle bends down to feel Tracy’s pulse. Kintu says nothing, looking emotionlessly at her limp body.
David Harber: Kasidy, you have to control this monster!
Pierce Lavelle: (standing up) Damn it, Chainz is going to lose it. He’s going to come at us like a whirlwind. I know we have numbers, but he’s not going to be content keeping this in the ring.
David Harber knew this as well as anyone. He had often feared for his sister’s safety when she had been around the AWC, hell he often feared for his own safety. He knew full well what Chainz was capable of and now, being surrounded with guards and security he suddenly felt vulnerable.
David Harber: This isn’t good.
Kasidy Drake: Don’t worry David, if Chainz tries anything I’ll have LeVar take care of him.
Pierce Lavelle looks stunned and concerned as he bends over again to check on Tracy. David Harber: Come on, let’s get out of here. LeVar, get to your match. I’m going to the skybox.
Kasidy Drake: I have business to take care of elsewhere.
Pierce Lavelle: (looking stiffly at Kintu) Yeah, I think I’ll just hang in the locker room.
The four men walk off, taking their separate directions, as the medical team rush onto the scene to check on the fragile doll of Chainz.
Crisis vs St. Romani, Kintu, Marquez and Lexicon
STIPULATION: HANDICAP - #1 CONTENDERSHIP TO FRONTIER TITLE
REFEREE: JOSEPH REID
AUTHOR: TYWON
The scene opens back up inside of the ring where Ring Announcer Pierre Perroquet is standing in the center with all competitors in this match alongside.
Pierre Perroquet: Ladeez and gentellmen…ze following contest eez a four-on-one ‘andicap match! Earlier tonight, David Harber announced that zis match, which was originally scheduled to be Darcy Crisis vs Machaiveli St. Romani, is now a match where ze person ‘oo pins Darcy receives a shot at ‘is championship. Now… eentroducing to my right, ze Frontier champion ‘imself… DARCY CRISIS!
The fans send a loud wave of cheers for Darcy as he holds his hands high in the air.
Pierre Perroquet: And to my left, ze four man team of ze debuting Machaiveli St. Romani, Johnny Lexicon, Josh Marquez, and Juggernaut Kintu!
A mixed reaction is felt for the four-man team as they discuss who will be starting the match off.
Dave Kern: And what a team this is. You have a guy who’s enjoyed success in the illustrious ACW, Machaiveli St. Romani… a monster in LeVar Kintu, and two rising stars that have enjoyed tremendous success here in AWC in Lexicon and Marquez.
Jeff Marx: The odds are truly stacked against the champion. Let’s see if she, or he as the case may be, overcomes.
DING! DING! DING!
Dave Kern: There’s the bell and it’s time to get this thing underway.
As soon as the bell sounds, Lexicon rushes the ring taking down an unsuspecting Crisis with a perfectly planted spear before mounting him with solid right hands. The referee manages to pull Lexicon off of Crisis, but cannot stop his momentum as he sends a boot into the back of Darcy’s head, preventing him from reaching his feet. Finally Lexicon reaches down and yanks up Darcy by the hair, Irish whipping him into the corner and following it up with a huge stingers splash! Darcy stumbles drunkenly out of the corner, allowing Lexicon to quickly ascend the turnbuckle and leap off with a missile dropkick to the back of Darcy’s head that plants him face first into the mat.
Dave Kern: My goodness! That shot nearly decapitated the head of the champion!
Jeff Marx: And the bad thing is… he’s still got three other guys to go through!
Seeking to keep the rotation flowing, Lexicon sends in a quick tag to Machaiveli St. Romani who steps inside of the ring looking to afflict more damage unto the champion. Lexicon reaches down and yanks up Darcy, holding him steady, enabling Romani to hit a cheap shot, but Romani doesn’t go for it and instead yells for Lexicon to get out of the ring so that the match-up could be even. Lexicon is bewildered by this, leading him to let go of Darcy and get in the face of Romani. This in turn allows Crisis to regain himself and send a rousing dropkick into the back of Lexicon which forces him to crash into Romani, sending Romani between the middle and second ropes and out unto the arena floor.
Dave Kern: Uh-Oh. Harber pieced this match together in hopes that the four-man team could take out Darcy… looks as if it’s starting to backfire, however.
Jeff Marx: Well I did a little research, Dave, and I have come to find that this Romani guy is a very kind-hearted fellow. A saint, if you will.
Dave Kern: Much like yourself, I’d suppose.
Jeff Marx: Of course.
Lexicon is on all fours near the ring ropes, looking to push himself back to his feet, but before he manages to do so, Crisis runs and springboards off of his back, leaping over the top rope and looking to connect with Romani on the outside. The monster LeVar Kintu, however, steps in out of nowhere, catching Crisis in mid-air before planting him back first against the steel ring post. After the hard smack, Kintu continues to hold unto Crisis, this time sending him throat first across the guardrail with a snake eyes attack. Crisis falls to his knees gasping for air as the ref looks to break this scene up.
Dave Kern: My Gosh! The champion’s lungs may have been shattered by that brutal attack.
Jeff Marx: Oh come on, Dave, it wasn’t that bad. Kevin Nash even uses it for crying out loud!
The referee is in the face of Juggernaut Kintu pleading for him to get back on the apron, but Kintu isn’t having it. That’s when a recovered Romani steps in and begins to shout for Kintu to get back on the apron. This upsets the Juggernaut who snatches Romani by the neck and lifts him into the air. Out of nowhere, however, Darcy dives and connects with a chop to the back of his leg that forces the monster to drop Romani and fall to one knee. Seeing this panorama, Marquez takes the liberty of leaping off of the apron and sending a huge club into the back of Darcy’s neck before rolling him back inside of the ring.
Dave Kern: It’s obvious that Kintu isn’t in his right mind, here. Attacking his own teammates? What kind of cooperation is that!?!
Jeff Marx: Harber said that these four men had to team together, Dave… not that they had to like each other.
Marquez gets into the face of a kneeled Kintu and begins to argue with him over attacking his own teammate. Meanwhile, Romani slides back into the ring in order to get this match back in tact. He allows Crisis to reach his feet before catching him with a collar and elbow tie up. The two match up pretty evenly, but the early fatigue and battering issued to Crisis allows Romani to take advantage by quickly snatching Darcy’s right arm and taking him down to the mat with a Japanese arm bar. Romani wrenches on the move tightly as Crisis screams out in pain.
Dave Kern: And this is where the famed hybrid style of Romani’s comes into play. Look at the perfect positioning on the move as he executes a lock unto the upper region of Darcy’s arm.
Jeff Marx: Do you really expect our viewers to believe that he’s TRYING to do all that? The man’s just pulling as hard as possibly can, for crying out loud!
After a few moments, Crisis reaches over and manages to place his fingertips on the bottom ring rope, forcing Romani to quickly break the maneuver. Romani backs off and allows Darcy to reach his feet. As soon as Darcy does so, Romani charges in and sends a huge knee lift up the gut of Darcy before Irish whipping him into the opposite ring ropes. Romani looks for a dropkick on the rebound, but catches nothing but the canvas as Darcy holds on to the ropes.
Dave Kern: Smart move by Darcy to ground the high-flying technician that is Machaiveli St. Romani.
Jeff Marx: Smart? Please. That was a desperate move by Darcy.
With Romani flat on his back, Darcy manages to springboard off of the middle rope and connects with a lionsault! He makes the cover and gets the one… he gets the two… he gets the three? NO! Kickout by Romani.
Dave Kern: So close! I thought it was all she wrote for the debuting Machaiveli St. Romani!
Jeff Marx: Okay, let’s be real here. Everyone knows that the winner doesn’t get the pin in the middle of the match, Dave. Stop being cliché.
Desperate to get this assault of a match over with, Darcy pulls Romani up by his mask and delivers three closed fist into the face of Romani, obviously not looking to show him the same respect and courtesy that Romani showed Darcy earlier. After the ref grants Crisis a warning for the illegal attack, Crisis Irish whips Romani into the corner of the ring, but Romani doesn’t connect with the corner. Instead, he leaps unto the very top turnbuckle before even hitting the corner. Now positioned on the top turnbuckle, he looks to leap off with some sort of aerial move. What that move is, however, we’ll never know, because before he can even hit the move, Juggernaut Kintu slaps his leg thus pushing him off of the turnbuckle and unto the ring floor below. Dave Kern: WHAT WAS THAT ALL ABOUT!?! Juggernaut Kintu is pushing it here. That was TOTALLY uncalled for!!
Jeff Marx: He was just trying to help St. Romani keep his balance, Kern. It’s not his fault the guy decided to take a joy-ride off of the turnbuckle.
Dave Kern: Oh bull-hockey. The guy is a drunk and he’s costing his team a match here. He may be a monster and all, but this is outright ridiculous.
Telling the ref that the slap to the leg was a tag, Kintu enters the ring despite the discern attitude from his teammates. Darcy Crisis charges at LeVar Kintu, but only receives a clothesline for his efforts that sends the champion right back down to the mat. Kintu falls to his knees and begins to blatantly choke Darcy. The referee begins the count for Kintu to break the illegal hold. After he reaches three, though, it begins to look as if Kintu is too drunk to even bother trying to grant the release of the hold, forcing Lexicon to quickly enter the ring and pull him off of Crisis right as the ref opens his mouth to say “five”.
Dave Kern: What is he doing!? If It wasn’t for Lexicon, this match would be over!
Jeff Marx: You’re right. What’s wrong with that idiot, Lexicon?
Lexicon begins trying to talk some sense into Kintu, but Kintu tells the ref to get him out of the ring. Kintu begins to laugh and taunt Lexicon as the referee gets him out of the ring which allows Crisis to sneak behind Kintu and send a kick up between his legs, connecting with his balls! This sends a wave of cheers through the fan as the monster Kintu falls to his knees holding his personage. With Kintu on his knees, Darcy Crisis bounces off of the ropes and delivers a HUGE dropkick to his face that literally sends spit flying out of the mouth of Juggernaut Kintu! Kintu falls to the mat allowing Darcy to leap unto the top rope and leap off with a Shawn Michaels-esque, picture perfect elbow drop! He’s got the cover…
ONE!
TWO!
THR---
NO!!!
Dave Kern: OH!! Close call but no cigar.
Kintu barely does it, but he manages to kickout. The stomps and cheers from the crowd only manage to fuel the champion, Darcy, more as he reaches down and picks up LeVar Kintu, connecting with three hard right hands that back him unto the ropes. Darcy then whips Kintu off of the ropes before bouncing off of the opposite ropes. Darcy meets Kintu in the center of the ring with a HUGE spinning heel kick that sends the monster off of his feet and unto the mat below. With momentum heavily in his favor, Crisis heads over to the ring ropes. Kintu reaches his feet and as soon as he does, Darcy Crisis bounces off of the ring ropes, turning in mid air and catching Juggernaut Kintu with a tornado DDT! He’s got the cover as the crowd goes crazy!
ONE!!
Marquez springboards onto the top ring rope…
TWO!!
He leaps off…
THR---
He connects with a leg drop to the back of Crisis’s head that breaks the count! The crowd lets out a huge round of applause for the action that has ensued in the early rounds of this contest.
Dave Kern: What a move! Josh Marquez just saved this bout for his team with an outstanding maneuver and the fans are eating it up.
Jeff Marx: They’d eat the hair off of my backside if it flew across the ring like that.
Marquez calls for Lexicon to come into the ring and help him double-team Darcy Crisis. Lexicon does as told as the two grab Crisis by each arm and double Irish whip him into the ring ropes. They look for a clothesline on the rebound, but Darcy ducks it and progresses unto the opposite ropes. He doesn’t hit the ropes but instead springboards off of the middle ropes and turns in mid air, connecting with a springboard dropkick to both men (One leg connects with each man).
Dave Kern: What a move! Darcy Crisis is fighting this thing diligently even with the odds tremendously stacked against him!
Jeff Marx: Don’t be fooled, Dave. They’re just giving the guy a chance.
Looking to increase his momentum, Crisis takes the liberty of shoulder blocking Romani off of the ring apron as well! This backfires on him, though, because as he turns around he is met with a thundering big boot, ala Test, by the monster Kintu.
Dave Kern: OOOOOH WHAT A SHOT! He nearly beheaded the champion!
Jeff Marx: That’d actually be pretty cool to see him behead a guy.
LeVar Kintu reaches down and yanks up Darcy Crisis, military pressing him into the air and hoisting him there for a moment as he showboats. After a few moments of showboating that is only met with boos, Juggernaut drives Darcy into the mat with a big Military Press Slam.
Dave Kern: And look at the brute strength on this monster. He may not be fully sober, but the guy is a freaking animal inside of the ring.
Jeff Marx: Got that right. He nearly drove Crisis through the canvas with that one.
Marquez, who has yet to see action, reacquaints himself with the apron and begins to nearly beg for Kintu to make the tag to him. Kintu walks over as if he’s about to make the tag, but instead gives Marquez the finger before turning around to face Darcy once more. With Crisis back on his feet, Kintu Irish whips him into the ropes. Juggernaut Kintu looks for another boot on the rebound, but Crisis holds on to the ropes leaving him to catch nothing but air. Kintu is upset by this and charges towards Darcy on the ring ropes, but Darcy Crisis ducks it and instead Kintu meets a thundering slap from Josh Marquez, which rocks the monster. Marquez tells the ref that the slap was a tag and leaps inside of the ring!
Dave Kern: And Kintu gets a taste of his own medicine! My GAWD what a slap!
Jeff Marx: He can’t do that!! What’s that idiot thinking!?!
Marquez charges at Darcy who looks to be exhausted. He looks for a clothesline, but Crisis ducks it and drives a back boot into the gut of Marquez. He whips Marquez into the ropes and looks to pick him up into a tombstone on the rebound, but instead he catches a hurricanrana from the risk taker that sends him halfway across the ring.
Dave Kern: And Marquez is a ball of fire right now!
Darcy Crisis pushes himself back to his feet and stumbles into the corner of the ring. Marquez takes a few steps back and charges forward, leaping into the air and connecting with a KENTA-style jumping knee into the jaw of Darcy that forces him to stumble out of the corner and fall face first into the mat. Marquez takes full advantage of this and steps out unto the ring apron. He leaps unto the top ring rope and leaps off with a flying knee drop that connects right into the face of Darcy Crisis! He’s got the cover…
ONE!
TWO!
THR---
Darcy amazingly kicks out!
Dave Kern: Did he get it!?!
Jeff Marx: Did you hear a bell, idiot?
Still upset concerning the earlier slap, LeVar Kintu steps into the ring and grabs Marquez, tossing him between the top and second turnbuckle so that he smacks his shoulder on the ring post. He then sets his attention towards Darcy Crisis as if nothing happened. Lexicon is highly upset by this and takes the liberty of tagging himself in.
Dave Kern: Uh-Oh. Lexicon is in and he doesn’t look at all happy.
Jeff Marx: If he’s thinking of attacking the monster Kintu, he’d better think twice.
Kintu has Crisis backed up in the corner of the ring delivering haymakers when out of nowhere Lexicon AND Romani come and double toss him out of the ring, sending him to the outside.
SMACK!!
With impact, Kintu’s head connects with the ring steps on the outside of the ring, a shot that knocks the monster out cold.
Dave Kern: Oh my diarrhoea… Juggernaut Kintu is out cold!
Jeff Marx: AND IT’S ALL THEIR FAULT! WHAT ARE THOSE IDIOTS THINKING!?!
Dave Kern: They were thinking that they wanted to win this match, and with Kintu in it… they can’t do that. So how do you solve a problem like that? You eliminate it!
Jeff Marx: That’s not fair!!
Romani pulls Darcy Crisis out of the corner and sends him down to the mat with a short-arm clothesline. He signals to the turnbuckle as the fans erupt in cheers of approval. He goes up and comes off with his signature shooting star leg drop!
Dave Kern: HE CONNECTED! IT’S OVER!
Suddenly, Lexicon grabs Romani and tosses him out of the ring. He makes the cover on Darcy!
ONE!!
TWO!!
Romani tries to get back in and make the stop…
THREE!!!
He’s too late.
Dave Kern: Johnny Lexicon has done it! He took advantage of St. Romani and got the cover over Crisis! He’s going on to fight for the belt!
Jeff Marx: I don’t care how much of a saint he is, that had to piss off Romani.
Dave Kern: Well it’s too late now. This thing is over and done with and Lexicon is the victor. Fans we still have a full night of action left to go, so stay tuned!
The scene fades out with Johnny Lexicon walking up the ramp with his hands raised in victory.
Trashy Deal
FEATURING: GARBAGE BAG JOHNNY, DAVID HARBER
AUTHORS: JOSH K. AND PIERRE HYDE
He was a bit unsettled by the contents of the envelope he received when he had finally gotten to the arena. The paper inside simply had the room number of the Empire’s skybox written on it, and it was slipped underneath his locker room door. Even the AWC Transatlantic champion was aware of the late arrival fine. That’s probably what it was all about, Garbage Bag Johnny thought. Wasn’t it?
Garbage Bag Johnny: If I get fined for arriving late, I’m going to go on a rampage not too dissimilar from the arcade game where the gigantic ape and lizard beat the crap out of buildings.
The champ, oversized title in tow, climbed up a set of stairs. He had followed signs and painted arrows; he had always been good with maps and finding his way around. GBJ made his way to the skybox with no difficulty. The door was open in anticipation. “Heartless” David Harber sat over his desk reviewing a portfolio or doing whatever it is that rich people do when they sit at their desks. Harber looked up, hearing the heavily weighted steps of the champion and his thirty pound title.
David Harber: (sneering but with faux joviality) Ah, Garbage Bag! Come in. Have a seat.
Garbage Bag Johnny looked around the skybox, taking in the luxurious wonder of the posh commodities. Harber swiveled his chair so that he could have one fishlike eye on Johnny and one overlooking the arena. GBJ took a seat across the desk from the Voice of the Empire.
Garbage Bag Johnny: I’ve never been in a skybox before. It’s pretty swanky, chief.
David Harber was unimpressed with the man sitting in front of him. This was the same man who took the AWC championship from Pierce Lavelle at Coast To Coast; the same man who inflicted upon Gabriel Afeaki his only loss to date. Ever. And now here he was, gawking over the Empire skybox perks. It was a mystery to the artist formerly known as Pearl - a very profitable mystery.
David Harber: Let’s cut to the chase, Johnny. Do you know why I invited you up here?
Garbage Bag Johnny: Is it because I arrived to the arena late?
David Harber: (sighing) No, no, that was… excusable, because of the match stipulations.
Garbage Bag Johnny: Is it because you’d like to sell me that pendulum? I hear I have quite the extensive collection.
Garbage Bag Johnny pointed towards a grandfather clock on the side of the room.
David Harber: (slamming his hands down on the desk) No!
He relaxes a little and sinks back into his chair. Clearly “Heartless” David Harber’s fuse is very short tonight. (Is it something to do with Steven Caldera’s fuse beating AWC in the Snows?)
David Harber: No, it’s not that either.
Garbage Bag Johnny: I get it! You need some advice with the ladies! Well, I got three words for you. Free. Mustache. Rides.
David Harber: I don’t have a mustache, Johnny.
Garbage Bag Johnny: I’ll sell you mine.
David Harber: (standing up and slamming his hand against the side of his head) Shut UP, Johnny! How about I just tell you?!
Garbage Bag Johnny: Yeah, how about it?
David Harber: (pacing up and down) Well, as you hopefully know, two weeks ago you… earned a spot to represent Atlantic Wrestling Club in the GTT6 tournament, and I just want to make sure we’re on the same page. There’s quite a bit of money and pride on the line, and I wouldn’t want you doing anything to embarrass Atlantic Wrestling Club, or anything that might imply that under The Empire’s control things are anything other than…
Harber turns to GBJ with a smile forming on his face.
David Harber: Rosy…
Garbage Bag Johnny: Ha! I’ve never lost a tournament in my life. Tournament just so happens to be my middle name.
David Harber: I thought your middle name was Bag.
Garbage Bag Johnny: Bag’s just short for Tournament.
Groaning, Harber turns away and walks to the window, looking out at the crowd, who are looking up at him on the big screen. So he’s watching them watching him watching them watch--- wait, this has been done.
David Harber: Sure, Johnny, whatever you say. Now winning this tournament would be extremely beneficial for both of us, so I’m willing to make a few accommodations for you if you’re willing to just stay out of The Empire’s way. Pierce and Gabs – even though he’s, er, not here tonight – want you to know that… there are no hard feelings about your last two matches, when you, ah… defeated them.
Garbage Bag Johnny: I guess that’s kind of swell of them.
David Harber: So basically, I’ll scratch your back if you scratch mine.
Garbage Bag Johnny: It’s a deal! I got a real bad itch right in between the scapulas.
Harber’s look could sour milk. From forty yards.
David Harber: It was a figure of speech.
Garbage Bag Johnny: Oh… yeah. I knew that.
David Harber: Basically, if you stay out of The Empire’s way, The Empire will stay out of your way. Of course, you’ll be defending your AWC championship against Paddy O’Shea in a couple of weeks at Untouchable, but until then, there won’t be any surprise title shots thrown at you. It’d also be a great help for me if you kept Ellis Nash occupied and out of The Empire’s business as well.
Garbage Bag Johnny: I can’t speak for Ellis… unless you agree to change the name of the pay per view to something with a bit more of a ring to it - like Night of the Living Garbage Bag.
Ignoring Garbage Bag’s ridiculous request, Harber furrows his brow, seemingly thinking beyond the current conversation.
David Harber: I’ll tell you what I will do. I’ll have Drakewerx mass produce your line of Garbage Bag Serum. You’ll make millions, if not billions! How does that work for you?
Garbage Bag Johnny: Like an Indian man at Dunkin Donuts.
Harber lets out a forced chuckle that makes him sound like more of a glib jackass than he already is. His heel meter rises one red bar.
David Harber: Of course, I want you to guarantee that if you still have the belt by November 17th, you’ll participate in the Triangles match at the Triangles pay per view event… and put your belt up for grabs in said match.
Garbage Bag Johnny: Triangles! Now there’s a name for a pay per view. Three sides. Acute, obtuse, right-angled, equilateral, scalene, isosceles…there’s so much that man still doesn’t know about that three sided menace. Did you know all triangles can be bisected and then fit together to form a parallelogram? Test it out sometime!
David Harber: I’ll make sure to do that. So do we have a deal?
Garbage Bag Johnny spits in his right hand and extends it to shake one of Harber’s hands. Harber just looks at GBJ’s moistened hand as the spit drips onto the papers on his desk. Harber knows that this whole meeting went a bit easily - a bit too easily. He knew then that something was bound to go wrong when GBJ was involved, but at least delaying the inevitable was enough for now.
David Harber: We’ve got a deal, Garbage Bag. And do try with Ellis, won’t you?
Garbage Bag Johnny: Of course. She can never resist the charms that lie within my feral beard.
David Harber: Uh-huh. So you can go now.
Garbage Bag Johnny: Oh, fine…
David Harber: And if you see Gabs – Afeaki anywhere, could you – oh never mind.
Garbage Bag Johnny: Will do!
Harber stares.
David Harber: No, I didn’t actually ask you to do anything…
Garbage Bag Johnny: Yessir!
Johnny bounds out of the room, knocking a bowl of mustard from the catering table as he goes. Harber winces as the yellow substance splatters onto the floor, and approaches the Drakewerx guards at the door.
David Harber: Would you get somebody to clear up this mess? Actually…
A sadistic grin comes onto Harber’s face.
David Harber: Teresa Tomas will do nicely.
The Lord Makes An Unwelcome Visit
FEATURING: THE COALITION, THE FURIOUS FISTS OF GOD
AUTHOR: DAVE LARKIN
The London Arena is absolutely packed to the rafters tonight, and no matter where one wanders in the building, there is a perpetual cacophony of people screaming, cheering and basically having a good time. The camera swivels around on the spot to reveal one half of The Coalition, Wesley Reno, in his locker room. Reno is not booked in a match tonight, and for once in a long time appears to be in a calm, mellow mood. Phil Allen, his tag team partner, is nowhere to be seen at this time.
Reno sits back in the wooden framed armchair and proceeds to switch the television on to catch up with a documentary series in relation to politics in today’s world. Before Reno can enjoy the documentary, however, the door of the locker room flies open to reveal Liam and Tim Martin, collectively known as The Furious Fists of God.
The Martin brothers are carrying two large boxes of books in their arms, as well as a megaphone. Liam Martin takes the megaphone as he places a box down on the table near the door. Tim Martin grins in a sinister fashion in Reno’s direction as his brother prepares to do God’s bidding.
Tim Martin: My brother, tell this peasant what’s about to happen.
Reno listens intently, curiosity getting the better of him in this instance. Reno knows full well that these men will be wrestling himself and Phil Allen at AWC Untouchable, the next pay-per-view.
Liam Martin: You, Wesley Reno, have been randomly selected to receive one of our complimentary bibles tonight! Do you promise to do the Lord’s work for the entirety of your life?
Reno arches his eyebrows, taken aback by the question. It is said as more of an order by Liam Martin, who locks eyes with a silent Reno as he awaits his answer.
Wesley Reno: When will you two ever learn that God isn’t the be all and end all of life? You prance around every week on this show as Alliance champions, promoting your views as gospel – excuse the pun – and don’t even consider the many other faiths around the world. Face it, there’s more to living than faith and worship. My advice to you gentlemen is to get real, and fast. If not, you could be in for a real beating at Untouchable.
The Martin’s jaws literally drop simultaneously. They cannot fathom what they have just heard come from Reno’s mouth. Reno sits in his armchair still, arms folded, cool as a can of Bud in the Arctic Ocean. The Martin’s gather up the bible they had put aside for Reno and place it back into their box. Both of the brothers appear to be about to go off on Reno.
Wesley Reno: If that’s all, then you can be on your way.
Before Reno can speak again, The Martins rush towards him, taking him off his chair and pouring the boxes of bibles on top of him to disorientate him. The Martin’s two-on-one assault begins to pay dividends, as they corner Reno. Suddenly, the door creaks open and the huge frame of Phil Allen rushes into shot, taking the Martins out with a couple of swift right hooks. Allen helps Reno to his feet and watches as the Martin’s head out of the locker room, a look of intent for revenge in their eyes.
Phil Allen:Are you okay, Wes? What did those bible bashers do to you?
Wesley Reno: I’m just fine, Phil. You know, they were just trying to air their views on God and sell me Bibles, apparently. If they’re the team we have to wrestle at Untouchable, we should have no problem.
Phil Allen: Don’t get cocky, kid! These guys may act like pussies, but they’re not champions for nothing. Be on your guard, Wes.
The Good Samaritan
FEATURING: JOSH MARQUEZ, GARBAGE BAG JOHNNY
AUTHORS: GARETH AND JOSH K.
Josh Marquez, fresh from a handicap beatdown on Darcy Crisis, knew he only had a short window to accomplish his tasks before Paddy got impatient and went hunting for Ellis Nash by himself. That couldn’t be allowed to happen, so it was with considerable relief that Josh spotted his quarry shortly after leaving the gypsy stewing in his locker room.
Josh Marquez: Hey! Can I have a word?
The figure that turned to answer Marquez was not the slim, female form of Ellis Nash, however. In fact, it was quite the opposite.
Garbage Bag Johnny: Sure. You can have anthropomorphic. That’s a fine word. It has fifteen letters!
Josh Marquez: Johnny, I’ll be honest, I need a favour. It’s nothing too big but I can’t really do it by myself.
Garbage Bag Johnny: First you want a word and now you want a favor? I’ll see what I can do, but if you ask to bum a cigarette, I don’t have any.
Josh Marquez: It’s sort of an odd coincidence actually. You know the way myself and Ellis Nash haven’t really gotten along since I arrived here?
The Transatlantic champion nods his head, though he does so in that automatic way, as if he isn’t really sure what Josh is talking about.
Josh Marquez: Well, I was just walking around here earlier and I found this.
Marquez lifts a large brown paper bag up to show the Garbage Bag. On its side is stenciled, in large letters, ’Property Of Ellis Nash’.
Garbage Bag Johnny: My stars! That is Ellis’ bag. It has her name right on it!
Josh Marquez: And of course I want to make sure that Ellis gets her stuff back but I’m afraid that if I go round there she’ll think I’m looking for a fight. It’d be a real shame if she lost her stuff because of some silly thought like that, don’t you think?
Garbage Bag Johnny: You’re probably right. It doesn’t take much to make a woman like Ellis angry.
Josh Marquez: So could you be a pal and take this to her?
The bag extended by Josh is accepted by GBJ, who starts to look inside it. Josh hurriedly stops this from happening though.
Josh Marquez: Don’t do that! It’s rude to look in a lady’s bag! Did you not learn any manners?!
Johnny looks sheepish, like he’s been told off by a teacher.
Garbage Bag Johnny: I wasn’t going to look inside. I was just going to have a quick smell. Honest!
Josh Marquez: She isn’t in her locker room right now, so if you could take it in about five minutes that’d be great. I really appreciate this.
Garbage Bag Johnny: Okay, chief. You can count on me.
And with that, the man at the top of the pile in AWC shambles off, destination unknown, leaving Marquez with just one thing to do.
Liam Martin vs Jack Murphy
STIPULATION: SINGLES
REFEREE: MICHAEL RYAN
AUTHOR: KRIS (KLONE)
The clinical riff of 'Burn' by Throwdown fills the arena and begins an extended loop as the house lights dim to a dull, crimson red. As the flick of the lighter is heard around the arena and the riff explodes, so too does the entrance into a burning inferno. Through the flames emerges 'The Bull' Jack Murphy.
Dave Kern: Jack Murphy ladies and gentlemen.
The arena goes dark. On the jumbo tron, a face that is half Liam, half Tim Martin shows up, with the words "The Furious Fists of God" coming up in Blood Letters. Then, pyros burst at the top of the ramp as the song "Hallelujah" hits.
Hallelujahhhhhh...
Hallelujahhhhhh...
Out of the smoke and fire are Tim and Liam Martin, kneeling there in prayer. Above them video of the two executing moves against opponents are flashing by. Once they finish prayer, they walk down the ramp, side by side, to the ring. They climb in there and jump on the turnbuckles to a combination of church music and boos.
Dave Kern: Like them, hate them, but everybody knows them. The Alliance champions, The Furious Fists of God!
Jeff Marx: No truer words have been spoken my friend, Liam Martin looks unusually focused tonight as he ascends those stairs.
Dave Kern: I have to agree that is one cold stare and Jack Murphy doesn't seem at all phased by it.
Jeff Marx: Like a deer caught in the headlights.
Tim stays on the mat outside as his brother climbs through the ropes, Jack Murphy safely behind referee Michael Ryan's hand. The ref is saying something to Jack when Liam reaches around for a cheap shot.
Jeff Marx: Liam rearing to get started.
Dave Kern: And that three count signals the official start to this match.
Murphy, shaken a bit angered by the cheap shot, rushes at Liam like a roach into the hotel. A snap hip toss lands him on his back and scrambling to get back up, but he's in the pattern, a second hip toss lands Jack right back on the mat, but this time Liam is locking in a kneeling arm bar.
Dave Kern: Liam attempting to pull this match out on the right note by taking quick control.
Jeff Marx: Jack Murphy is known for his power and technical mechanics, Liam's beating him to the punch.
Jack struggles in the arm bar for what seems like too long before Martin releases the pressure. He keeps his grip firm as he goads Jack into standing, twisting the limb uncomfortably. With Murphy in position Liam swings a foot for his gut, Martin doubles over and takes a nasty elbow to the back of the head. Liam roars for the booing fans.
Dave Kern: Jack needs to come off of the defensive because Liam's O is tight.
Jeff Marx: First off don't ever say anything like that again. And second, Murphy's screwed right here.
Liam lands a second nasty back elbow before pulling Jack to his feet and throwing him into the corner. He follows in but Jack gets a leg up in time and Liam stumbles back holding his chest. Murphy comes out on fire with a hard right hand, Liam fires but Jack blocks it and then ducks a left. Liam launches a boot but Jack sweeps it aside and hammers Liam to the matt with a cold hard clothesline. Tim beats his hands and calls for Liam to get up.
Dave Kern: Jack Murphy coming out of nowhere!
Jeff Marx: These fans are just as surprised as I am, but they seem to be ten times happier about it!
Jack moves in on Liam as he's getting to his knees, Liam hits him with a shot to the mid section but Jack slams his back hard, and again. Liam struggles for his feet as Murphy nails a forearm shot. Liam takes a big swing but Jack avoids it, grabbing Liam's right arm and dragging him to the mat before bending it behind his back and leaning on it.
Dave Kern: Murphy turning the momentum in his favor!
Liam cries out and reaches for the ropes. Too far.
Dave Kern: Liam's arm is looking strained, Murphy using his entire body to pin the Martin to brother to the mat.
Jeff Marx: Jack is using this as a chance to get his bearings, collect himself against the monster he's got pinned beneath him. It's desperation not determination in Jack Murphy's eyes right now.
Murphy extends the arm further, the ref dodging about and checking on Martin.
Jeff Marx: You're right, as rare as that is, Murphy is in some serious trouble if he can't wear Liam down.
Liam drags himself a few inches. And then a few more, reaching for the rope Jack gives his arm a good twist to put him back down.
Jeff Marx: The clock is ticking away.
Dave Kern: Liam Martin refuses to tap out!
Jeff Marx: Desperation, Dave, desperation.
Liam pulls himself the last few inches and takes a firm hold on the rope. Ryan's breaks the hold instantly, Murphy releases the arm and takes a step back, Liam simply hanging onto the rope.
Jeff Marx: Aha, he's done it!
Dave Kern: Liam doesn't look, the fans solidly behind Murphy as he stalks The Furious Fist of God.
Murphy stomps on his arm, and then again. Liam rolls to the outside as Murphy taunts him, waving his arms and stirring the fans into a frenzy.
Dave Kern: Tell me Jeff, determination? Or Desperation?
Jeff Marx: We call that good tactics, take a moment to appear shook up.
Liam marches around the corner as Jack slips out to come after him. Murphy comes around in a run and drills a forearm into the back of Liam's skull.
Dave Kern: And that?
Jeff Marx: Oh shut up and call the damn match!
The big man staggers but spins around and blocks a right, takes the left on the chin. Jack drives him back first into the steel steps with a dazzling standing drop kick, the hardware coming apart as Liam fights to stay away.
Dave Kern: A nasty move by Jack, those stairs practically exploded with the impact!
Jeff Marx: Murphy needs to press his advantage, if he gives Liam just a minute to get himself sorted he'll be finished.
Jack takes his time breaking the count, pulling Liam to his wobbly feet he hits a nasty back handed chop and looks about to sling shot Liam against the guard rail when he hooks his right arm into a half nelson. Jack leans against the ring for support as Liam starts to struggle wilder and wilder.
Dave Kern: Jack taking up that arm again, determined to take away Liam powerful right hand.
Jeff Marx: Jack looks like he's barely able to hold Liam let alone work the arm weak.
Liam breaks the hold, Jack grabs the middle rope, Liam spins around just as Jack pulls his legs up and plants them solid and square in Liam chest. Falling against the guard rail as Murphy breaks the count Liam's head lolls from side to side.
Dave Kern: Jack Murphy sends Liam on a nasty ride!
Jeff Marx: Liam looks bad, this is bad.
Tim Martin comes out of nowhere with a cheap shot behind the ref's back.
Dave Kern: Ryan saw something happen!
Jeff Marx: Tim could have just cost his brother this match.
Dave Kern: The fans are stomping again, calling for Tim to be thrown out.
Tim argues with the ref as a "THROW HIM OUT" chant erupts. The ref pulls his arm back and aims it up the ramp, the stands explode with cheers.
Jeff Marx: Michael Ryan is executing his power as the in ring official.
Dave Kern: I think it's a good call, this is a singles competition and if Liam Martin wants to be taken seriously he shouldn't have his tag partner at ring side anyway.
Murphy saunters towards Liam and pulls his hand back for a huge blow when Liam suddenly explodes! An audible moment of surprise sweeps the stadium, Liam crashes into Murphy like a line backer and spears him against the ring. The crowd stomps, booing and chanting at the same time. Liam erupts as he hauls Jack to his feet and practically tosses him into the ring.
Jeff Marx: What an explosion, what an amazing display of sheer power!
Dave Kern: Jack Murphy looks almost confused!
Liam clears up onto ring apron in a single leap. Jack charges at him with a right, Liam holds onto the ropes, he drives his knee through the middle ropes and scores a hit. Murphy doubles over as Liam grabs him and spins to his back. Murphy seems only half aware before Liam screams something to the heavens and heaves Jack clear over the top rope and drops him hard to the matt outside.
The stands become drums as feet stomp and a boo sparks up against Liam.
Dave Kern: What an animal!
Jeff Marx: Liam Martin simply powered Jack Murphy clear over that rope to the floor. It must have been at least a twelve maybe fifteen foot drop!
Liam Martin raises his arms to either side and lets his eyes aim skyward.
Dave Kern: Liam Martin looks to be offering praise.
Jeff Marx: He is asking for forgiveness I'll bet.
Dave Kern: For what?
Liam drops into a crouch. He dives off the apron and into an elbow drop, Jack Murphy doesn't know what hit him!
Dave Kern: OH MY GOD!!
Jeff Marx: For that.
Liam gets to his feet slowly, holding his hip as he comes around to Jack's side. Murphy holds his chest tight in a fetal position when Liam starts pulling him to his feet, rolling him into the ring under the bottom rope, breaking the count.
Dave Kern: What a serious of moves, Jack Murphy could have broken bones, a collapsed lung, almost a guaranteed concussion.
Jeff Marx: Liam Martin. Is good at what he does.
Liam hooks Jack's leg for the pin. ONE!
TWO!
THREE!
Dave Kern: Huh?
Jeff Marx: No!
Dave Kern: Jack Murphy kicked out! Listen to these fans goes crazy!
Jeff Marx: How does he have it in him?!
Dave Kern: Jack Murphy refuses to quit!
Jeff Marx: Liam looks frustrated. Angry kinds of frustrated.
Liam hauls Jack to his feet, leaning way back he drives Murphy into the ropes. Jack's back hits the turnbuckles hard and he bounces off sickeningly.
Jeff Marx: Tell me that power does not impress you.
Liam stomps Jack twice before hunkering down and pulling Murphy into a standing position. He whips Jack into the ropes, drawing his furious fist back.
Dave Kern: I can't watch.
Jeff Marx: Here it comes!
Jack ducks! The crowd erupts.
Jeff Marx: NO!
Jack comes back fast with a body splash that takes Liam down.
Dave Kern: Jack Murphy is fighting for a momentum shift in his favor.
Liam's back on his feet after a short moment, he takes to the ropes again and comes back with a huge dropping fist. Liam pulls himself around and into a kneeling position before the impact fully registers.
Jack bounces back into the ropes and comes off in a run. Liam falls away and comes up on his feet in the corner, Jack pulling up squares his shoulders with
Dave Kern: Liam narrowly avoiding a second taste.
Jeff Marx: Jack Murphy looks unsure under that glare of Liam Martin's.
Liam breaks into a run, Jack looks about side step, Martin falters: Hip toss. Jake backs into the ropes as Liam growls back onto his feet and hits him with a flying forearm.
Dave Kern: This match is becoming do or die, both men must be feeling the wear of such an intensely physical match.
Jeff Marx: They've been fighting tooth and nail since that bell tolled and these wonderful AWC fans are loving every move.
Jack helps Liam stand and throws him into the ropes, he launches a drop kick but it comes up short as Liam holds onto the ropes. Martin drops an elbow but Jack rolls out of the way, getting to his feet and falling into the ropes in one single motion he bounds forward big step and scores.
Dave Kern: Oh what a kick from Jack Murphy.
Jeff Marx: It could have broke Liam's nose!
Dave Kern: These fans are out of control as Jack wastes no time in getting Liam on his feet.
Jeff Marx: This can't be happening!
Dave Kern: Liam Martin looks like he's about to Fall From Grace!
Jeff Marx: He held onto it!
Jack gives up and hits a snap DDT.
Dave Kern: Great cover up, Liam looked determined to stay away from the vertical suplex.
Jeff Marx: Jack making a pin attempt here.
ONE!
TWO!
Liam, with a throaty growl, powers out of the pin. Murphy staggers to his feet in an instant.
Jeff Marx: He powers out of the pin like an angry animal!
Dave Kern: Murphy doesn't look surprised though, attacking that weak arm with a harch kick.
Jeff Marx: Liam's putting his back to the corner, getting leverage to find his feet.
Jack punches the weak, Liam swings a left but Murphy ducks aside and drives his shoulder into Liam's ribs, he grabs the ropes in both hands and does it again. The ref buzzes about counting as Jack does it a third time before grabbing Liam and lifting him clear off his feet! He turns to face the ring and power bombs Liam onto the mat!
Dave Kern: Murphy makes a cover!
ONE!
TWO!
Liam bursts his shoulder off the mat for a brief second and breaks the count.
Jeff Marx: He's not gonna give up!
ONE!
TWO!
Dave Kern: Liam kicks out again!
Jeff Marx: Jack Murphy is clearly frustrated with his opponent tonight!
Dave Kern: Jack Murphy setting Liam up here!
Jeff Marx: Liam Martin's weak arm looks horrible as Jack Murphy locks in the single arm camel clutch.
Liam cries out in pain, waving his free arm impotently for the ropes.
Dave Kern: He's got nowhere to run, the only way to go for the ropes is to further sacrifice his arm for leverage.
Jeff Marx: I have faith.
Liam strains and reaches but it's no use he need more leverage to move Jack's weight.
He twists a few times, sensing what he's about to attempt Murphy leans back a little further. Liam's face contorts as he battles the pain giving Murphy even more room to wrench his arm as he gets a knee underneath himself.
Dave Kern: Hold on Jack!
Liam cries out as he lunges forward and grabs firm hold of the bottom rope. Ryan's is quick to break the hold and Murphy is just as quick to grab Martin's legs and pull him back into the middle.
Dave Kern: He might break that arm with another round!
Jeff Marx: This could be it for Liam tonight.
Jack sets Liam up for the single arm clutch when suddenly Martin flops onto his back.
Jeff Marx: Yes!
Liam hooks Jack with his feet and drags his shoulders to the matt, holding his legs for the desperation pin.
ONE!
TWO!
Jack kicks out and rolls to the side.
Dave Kern: Quick thinking by Liam Martin, both men a little slow to get to their feet.
Jack bashes Liam from behind, grabbing him up he delivers a nasty belly to back suplex and bridges for a pin.
ONE!
TWO!
Dave Kern: Another two count pin attempt!
Jeff Marx: They're even slower getting to their feet this time.
Jack comes down on Liam from behind again, but Martin is ready this time, dropping to the side and pulling Jack down into the ropes. Murphy bounces off and falls to his back.
Dave Kern: Another quick escape by Liam Martin who knows now to give Jake a chance to lock his arm down.
Jeff Marx: Indeed he's holding his right arm close to his chest, I can only imagine the pain he's in.
Liam takes a left handed swing but Jack ducks it like a boxer and puts a solid punch into Liam's right elbow. Liam stumbles away but Jack presses his advantage and whips Liam into the ropes. Liam reverses! Jack goes into the ropes and comes off fast!
Jeff Marx: Furious Fist!
Dave Kern: This could be it! Look at Liam holding his arm that move must had caused him an excruciating amount of pain.
Liam gives his head a shake and makes the cover.
ONE!
TWO!
THREE!
Dave Kern: The fans are chanting for Murphy! Listen to them stomp!
Jeff Marx: Liam Martin has pulled himself a hard fought victory tonight. And will Murphy ever win a match again?!
Dave Kern: Jack Murphy is a proven ring veteran and not an easy opponent by any stretch of the imagination. Liam Martin has proved here that is a bona fide single competitor as well as one half the Alliance champions.
Jeff Marx: Amen.
Time To Go
FEATURING: PADDY O'SHEA, JOSH MARQUEZ
AUTHOR: GARETH
Paddy O’Shea was instantly alert when he heard the knock on his locker room door. Maybe the thief was back for more. As it opened however, Paddy was happy to see it was none other than his ‘best friend’ Josh Marquez.
Paddy O’Shea: Are we goin’ to see her now?
Josh Marquez: Yeah, we’ll go now, she’s in her locker room. Now Paddy, remember - be cool.
Paddy O’Shea: Aye, I’ll try.
Red Handed
FEATURING: ELLIS NASH, GARBAGE BAG JOHNNY, PADDY O'SHEA, JOSH MARQUEZ
AUTHORS: GARETH AND JOSH K.
At the same time as Josh Marquez and Paddy O’Shea were making their way to the locker room of Ellis Nash, the Transatlantic champion was knocking on her door. Ellis’ disembodied voice called out from behind the door.
Ellis Nash: Who is it?
Garbage Bag Johnny: It’s me. I’m coming to return some of your stuff.
Ellis Nash: Uh, okay, come in then.
The Garbage Bag entered to find Ellis lacing up her boots, though she was still wearing a casual top rather than her ring gear. She turned to him as he came in and shut the door.
Ellis Nash: What did you say you had for me?
Garbage Bag Johnny: I think it’s a sack lunch. Smells like roast beef.
As he handed her the paper sack, a look of confusion appeared on Ellis’ face.
Ellis Nash: This isn’t mine.
Garbage Bag Johnny: Yes it is, it has your name on it… unless this bag is also named Ellis Nash…
Ellis Nash: I can see that but…
She started to look in the bag, pulling its contents out one by one.
Ellis Nash: …this ring isn’t mine, this necklace isn’t mine and as for this rabbit’s foot - eeew!!!
Ellis dropped the items on the table beside her, crumpling the bag up and throwing into the bin. Johnny opened his mouth to ask something but the question remained unsaid as the door to the room burst open and in came an angry Paddy O’Shea and an ice cool Josh Marquez.
Paddy O’Shea: You t’ieving bastards!
Garbage Bag Johnny: What?
Ellis Nash: Yeah, what?
Paddy O’Shea: Don’t play the innocent with me, aye know them’s mine things there and aye know the two of ye stole them!
Ellis looks at Garbage Bag, who looks to Marquez, as if willing him to explain the true situation to the pissed off pikey.
Josh Marquez: What are you looking at Johnny? You’ve been caught in the act!
Garbage Bag Johnny: Wait a minute! You’re that guy from the hallway that---
Josh Marquez: Just be quiet. Stop trying to weasel your way out of it.
Ellis Nash: What the hell is going on here?!
Marquez laughs at this, grabbing Paddy by the shoulder as he points at Ellis.
Josh Marquez: It was probably her idea all along, trying to mess with your head.
Ellis Nash: What the fu---
Josh Marquez: Look, just give the things back, and I’m sure Paddy will settle it with you in the ring, isn’t that right Paddy?
O’Shea looked like he wanted to start swinging, indeed, only the calming influence of his friend was stopping him, but he agreed in a stony voice.
Paddy O’Shea: Aye, that’s right.
Ellis Nash: Well fine then, have your junk back.
She pushes Paddy’s belongings down the table to him as Garbage Bag Johnny looks on, still trying to figure out what the hell is going on.
Josh Marquez: You two should but ashamed of yourselves. I expected dirty tricks like this from her but not you Johnny.
And with a final shake of his head, Josh leaves with Paddy in tow. Ellis looks pointedly at the Transatlantic champion as she asks.
Ellis Nash: Do you want to explain what that was about?
Garbage Bag Johnny: I have no idea, but I don’t like the cut of that man’s jib. Not one bit. His jib is cut very distastefully in my opinion!
Ellis Nash: Well then could you please leave my locker room?
Ellis turns her back to Johnny and gets something out of her bag. After some adjusting she starts to change into her ring top, turning round only to find GBJ still there. Pulling her top quickly over her chest she shouts at him.
Ellis Nash: What the hell are you still doing here?
Garbage Bag Johnny: Well, Ellis, I was just thinking that since I was the champion and all that maybe we could give things one more chance.
Ellis Nash: Get out!
Garbage Bag Johnny: Alright, fine. But if Pierce Lavelle asks, can you pretend we’re still screwing? I’ve got a million bucks riding on it.
Ellis Nash: I said get out!
Snapping his fingers in “oh snap” disappointment, Garbage Bag obliges as the scene fades to black.
Dirty Work; Two Sorts
FEATURING: TERESA TOMAS, DAVID HARBER
AUTHOR: PIERRE HYDE
Those Drakewerx Pharmaceuticals guards – or more like stormtroopers – always give her the shivers. However confident she had been on the way up to the skybox that whatever request David Harber would make, she would throw it back in his face... well, that confidence has dissipated somewhat by the time she’s flashed her ID at the faceless, sinister, black-clad men at the door.
Teresa Tomas: You wanted to see me?
David Harber is alone in the skybox, Tomas notes as she approaches. This doesn’t renew her confidence, but it does give her hope – hope that without anyone to show off to, the man now known as “Heartless” might revert to his more humane ways of times past.
David Harber: Certainly, Teresa – oh, mind the – oh, too late.
Tomas looks to where he is pointing, and notices with revulsion that she has just planted her foot in a big, dirty yellow spill of...
David Harber: Mustard. All over your boots.
Tomas gnashes her teeth, but says nothing as she steps gingerly out of the spilt condiment.
David Harber: (standing up) No, no, stay where you are; you’ll get it all over the carpet!
Turning to look at Harber with daggers that could stab through the thickest ice in the Antarctic, Teresa Tomas sniffs.
Teresa Tomas: So what did you want to see me for?
David Harber: Ah – that, actually!
Teresa Tomas: Huh?
Harber approaches and squats down right by Teresa. She has the strongest impulse to kick him in the face.
David Harber: This mustard... Garbage Bag Johnny knocked the bowl off of the table a little earlier and I need somebody to clean it up.
Teresa Tomas: So?
David Harber: So I called on you – Teresa Tomas, domestic goddess!
The snarl in Harber’s voice offends every one of the thousands of housewives watching on television.
Teresa Tomas: I ain’t cleaning this up.
“Heartless” David Harber adopts a big smile.
David Harber: Oh yes you are. See, that new contract you signed; you know, the one where I halved your salary – did you read the small-print? No? Too busy doing... whatever the hell it is rednecks do?
Teresa Tomas: Harber, whatever shit you put in my contract, I want it taken out. Now.
David Harber: No can do! Now what say you get to that cleaning; I want it done by the time Dr. Drake comes back.
Harber retreats to his desk and Tomas starts to come after him, a grim and menacing expression on her face.
David Harber: Whoa whoa, hold it there or I’ll call in the guards! You see my panic button?
There’s a giant red button on the wall. It says “PANIC”. The Redneck Princess sees it alright, and trudges back to the spill.
David Harber: Look, you’ve made an even bigger job for yourself by dragging it all over the carpet on your boots... pity. If only you could just follow instructions...
Harber tosses her a cloth and, shaking with anger, Tomas begins to wipe up the mustard. The Entertainment Manager sits back at his desk and watches with a smile.
David Harber: (casually) By the way, you’re doing a photo shoot tomorrow with one of London’s top photographers.
Tomas mumbles something. It sounds like “Sure as hell ain’t doin’ no photo shoot”. Harber chuckles.
David Harber: Oh yes you are, Teresa. This one’s been planned for some time so I even wrote the specifics into your con--- oh wait, you didn’t read it... right. Well I saw a copy of Larger Than Life magazine...
Now Tomas turns her head.
David Harber: Oh yes... quite the catch, weren’t you? Shame how age takes it toll.
Tomas grits her teeth and gets back to work. She knows exactly what Harber – truly “Heartless”, living up to his new nickname – is referring to. Larger Than Life was a wrestling magazine Teresa posed for, in her days of working the independents. She was pictured in a black bikini for the front cover, back when she was more eye candy than a wrestler.
David Harber: Pierce will drop by later to deliver your outfit.
Again Tomas turns her head.
Teresa Tomas: Pierce?
David Harber: Pierce Lavelle. I'm sure you’ve heard of him, he’s---
Teresa Tomas: He’s a friend of mine.
Harber raises his eyebrows and then shakes his head in mock regret.
David Harber: Sorry, Teresa. Pierce isn’t your friend. Pierce is part of this great Empire, and you’re just same old Teresa Tomas. You don’t have any friends. Now would you hurry up with that already, I need you out of here. And like I said... Pierce’ll drop by later.
The Furious Address
FEATURING: THE FURIOUS FISTS OF GOD
AUTHOR: SAM LANDRY
The scene opens with the Furious Fists of God coming up on the megatron. Liam is slapping a punching bag in the background with headphones on while Tim is sitting on a bench, facing the camera.
Tim Martin: Faggots, niggers, whores, spics, and all other fine, young, demon-viduals that have used their dirty drug and prostitute money in order to buy worthless tickets to this pathetic God-hating show… welcome!
Tim flashes a big smile to boos from the crowd.
Tim Martin: Tonight, after the… erm… failed conversion of those bumbling fucking idiots, the Coalition, we felt it necessary to address the dumbasses collectively known as the fan base of the AWC.
Liam Martin: *singing* Push it to the limit!... past the point of no return… something something eat a cat from an urn you gotta keep it!...
Tim Martin: Um… don’t mind my brother… he’s just warming down after his win over that cocksucking demon, Jack Murphy, and the music selection is under don’t-ask, don’t-tell status.
Tim Martin: BUT ANYWAYS… back to the Coalition. Tonight, we TRIED to be nice… we WANTED to help you out… but apparently you don’t want to rail the shit out of largely breasted women for eternity, do you guys? Apparently you fags wanted to suck each other’s cocks in hell. Typical.
Crowd boos.
Tim Martin: But quickly, I saw why… I looked into ass-blaster Wesley Reno’s eyes and I saw it… the… DEVIL! So what could have we done? NOTHING! It was NECESSARY to lay upon that foul beast the power of the Lord, in terms of fists and bibles.
Tim Martin: So tonight, say to yourselves “Why didn’t mommy and daddy raise us to love vaginas? Why couldn’t we grow up in a house of the Lord?” It’s too late, though — St. Peter doesn’t want your sorry fucking asses, ok?
The mega tron cuts out to Tim Martin laughing maniacally.
Pierce Drops By Later
FEATURING: TERESA TOMAS, PIERCE LAVELLE
AUTHOR: PIERRE HYDE
The scene switches to Teresa Tomas’ locker room, where she’s just packing up her stuff ready to leave the arena for the night. Having changed into her casual clothes – a baggy Bud Light t-shirt and some old jeans – and let her hair down, the angry Redneck Princess is more than ready to head straight to her hotel and drown her sorrows in room service and the mini-bar. But there’s one further humiliation to be had yet.
There’s a knock at the door.
Teresa Tomas: Come on in, I was just leav---
Pierce Lavelle enters.
Teresa Tomas: Leaving...
Pierce Lavelle: Teresa.
Lavelle swallows hard and avoids her eye.
Teresa Tomas: Pierce, what is this, with Harber, and The Empire, and---
Pierce Lavelle: Shut up.
Now the three-time Transatlantic champion forces himself to look Teresa Tomas in the eyes, and that’s when she knows he’s gone from her life. That’s the moment of true betrayal... the moment of turning his back on her. And from behind his back he withdraws his hands.
Pierce Lavelle: Here you are. This is your outfit. For the photo shoot tomorrow.
It’s the skimpiest of thongs.
Teresa Tomas: Holy shit, I'm not wearing this.
Lavelle forces it into her hands and turns around, heading through the door.
Teresa Tomas: Pierce!
He doesn’t turn back.
Teresa looks despondently at the skimpy attire in her hands.
Teresa Tomas: I'm not wearing this. Who do they think I am?
Not bothering to set down her kitbag to put the underwear inside, Tomas storms out through the door, still holding tomorrow’s attire in her hands.
Paddy O'Shea vs Ellis Nash
STIPULATION: SINGLES
REFEREE: LARS LARSSON
AUTHOR: JAMIE FLETCHER
Pierre Perroquet: Leddeez and gentlemen it is time for zis evening’s Main Event.
Jeff Marx: You know what shocks me Dave?
Dave Kern: Nope what?
Jeff Marx: How these two can even be in a Main Event. Paddy O’Shea is a few retirements away from being The British Bomber and Ellis Nash is a ummm… poor man’s Aimz.
Dave Kern: Wait, you love Ellis and hate Aimz.
Jeff Marx: This is why Jamie Fletcher never used to write commentary! (but pleasepleaseplease don’t stop!)
‘Oblivion’ by Aimee Allen screeches out of the public announcement system. The melodic tune sends the AWC faithful wild as the camera crew hunts the sell out crowd for different Ellis Nash signs and shirts.
Hit the…
Ellis Nash comes out onto the stage to a huge ovation…
MOSH PIT!!!
Ellis Nash marches down the ramp, getting to the bottom of the ramp, she dives under the bottom rope and makes her way to her corner as her music cuts out.
Raggle Taggle Gypsy by Christy Moore replaces Ellis Nash’s theme tune as Paddy O’Shea wastes no time. Like a flash of lightning he appears on the ramp. Running down to the ring the only thing that separates him from attacking Ellis Nash immediately is the referee who pushes Paddy O’Shea into his corner.
Jeff Marx: So Paddy O’Shea was the final Countdown trophy holder and is now the #1 contender to the Transatlantic title?
Dave Kern: Yes…
Jeff Marx: So that title has less credibility then a PRIME show?
Pierre Perroquet: Zis is a seengles match, and standing in ze corner to my right, from Galway, Ireland… PADDY O’SHEA!!!
Crowd pops.
Pierre Perroquet: And ‘is opposition, standing grass-foo-lee in ze corner to my left, she is… ELLIS NASH!!!
Crowd reacts favorable for Nash.
Dave Kern: The fallout from Coast To Coast is still strong while Ellis Nash looks for a second win on the back of the Pay Per View after beating Josh Marquez last week. In her way? Paddy O’Shea!
The Man from the caravan Paddy O’Shea stands in his corner of the ring with a slight smirk. The referee signals to the timekeeper, bam! This match is underway. Paddy bounds across the ring, Ellis can’t run and is pounced on by Paddy O’Shea who looks to dominate from the off. Brutal, Paddy O’Shea shows no mercy inflicting a barrage of devastating brawling, biff and pow! Working on Ellis Nash, Paddy O’Shea is firmly on top of proceedings. Feeling confident enough that Ellis Nash was not about to revolt O’Shea breaks from his classic brawling and takes Ellis Nash by the hand lifting her up, so the he can ever so gently push her into the ropes, to launch her across the ring for further punishment.
Jeff Marx: See Dave this is what I don’t like about Nash, she is small. Every week man after man starts a match by beating the shit out of Nash if she wants to compete in the male division she needs to bulk up.
Dave Kern: Did I just hear Jeff Marx back a comment up?
Ellis flies across the ring, she instinctly hits the ropes back first which causes her to rebound into the middle of the ring. Moving into the centre O’Shea lines Ellis Nash up but Nash ducks the clothesline. She continues her run past O’Shea, Hand standing into the ropes… She falls back and uses all the momentum from the running to drive her elbow at the neck of Paddy O’Shea but O’Shea takes a leaf out of Nash’s book and ducks but doesn’t allow Nash to pass him. Instead O’Shea wraps his arm around her stomach after her elbow had passed him. Dropping down to the mat Paddy O’Shea erects Ellis Nash on his knee.
Dave Kern: I see what you mean Jeff to compete at the top level Ellis is going to need to develop a better strategy for the start of her matches.
Painful! Is the only word to describe Ellis Nash’s situation as O’Shea smoothers her into submission using his wrapped arm to keep her upper body as close to the mat as possible, his right leg to impel her midsection and his left leg to keep Ellis Nash’s feet nailed to the canvas. Ellis Nash screams with every millimeter higher that Paddy O’Shea manages to lift his right knee intensifying the suffering. His knee sending her into a frenzy… until her right hand eventually feels sweet ring cable. Amen!
Dave Kern: O’Shea Vs Garbage Bag Johnny, who do you think is the better wrestler Jeff?
Jeff Marx: I want Paddy O’Shea to fuck GBJ up. I want Paddy O’Shea to destroy the pot smoking bastard.
Dave Kern: But I thought we all loved GBJ…
Breaking the submission Paddy O’Shea attempts to further his control over Ellis Nash in this contest by doing his best to break her down quickly. Hoisting Ellis Nash up off his knee he rocks her back into the ring cables… ping!!!! Ellis Nash this time can’t avoid Paddy O’Shea’s stiff clothesline which sends her flying over her own head. A brief moment of peacefulness passes before Paddy O’Shea bothers to take hold of Ellis Nash’s right leg, Paddy wraps it around his right leg but Ellis squirms free.
She rashly gets up onto her feet, without thinking about Paddy O’Shea’s clear greater advantage time. O’Shea undamaged by Nash’s escape can easily continue to assert himself over Nash. O’Shea’s right fist makes a date with Ellis Nash’s face which does nothing for Ellis Nash’s chances of getting back into the contest. Nash is forced back into close proximity of the ring cables for a third time. A mischievous grin from Paddy O’Shea gives us an insight to the deadly man’s ideas.
Dave Kern: Are you not going to ask what I think?
O’Shea disposes of Ellis Nash thrusting her across the ring displaying mammoth strength. Like a machine O’Shea robotically follows this up with a charging high knee which connects with Nash, taking her right on the chin. Proud, commanding and unscathed Paddy O’Shea struts around the squared circle satisfied with his performance so far this evening. Deciding to put away his inferior competition and move on and up towards the Transatlantic championship Paddy O’Shea peels Ellis Nash off of the canvas like fried fish.
Jeff Marx: Nope, not really.
Sparring Ellis Nash nothing, giving her no second chance Paddy O’Shea hurtles her under his legs. He jacks her up, ready for a quick power bomb which could break Ellis Nash in half.
One chance…
One opportunity…
EYE JAB!
Ellis~! connects successfully jabbing Paddy O’Shea in the eye with her knuckles.
Jeff Marx: Maybe I was wrong, maybe this minx does have potential. Classic eye jab from Ellis Nash. Love it.
Reactionary drop… Ellis Nash = crazy, her eyes go red and flare up as she takes the contest to Paddy O’Shea. Paddy beware, Ellis is back. Punching Paddy O’Shea, Ellis Nash begins to regain some ground in this war after losing the early battle. However things are never as clear as them seem as O’Shea grasps onto one of Ellis Nash’s punches highlighting the fact he is the bigger, more experienced campaigner in this match. He pulls down on the arm which causes Ellis to slump. O’Shea then automatically as if a computer haven had been programmed latches Ellis Nash in a front face lock.
Ellis throws O’Shea to the ropes, double clothesline and they are both down.
Dave Kern: Both competitors are down and this match could go either way.
The referee begins to count both of them down and out 1… 2… 3… 4… 5… 6… Ellis Nash tips up and with one movement falls back down but with her elbow jamming itself in between two of Paddy O’Shea’s ribs. The crowd goes wild again for Ellis who tip’s up and for a second time in a row drops straight back down again forcing a textbook, PHD-worthy elbow drop squeezing perfectly in between two of Paddy O’Shea’s ribs.
Jeff Marx: I have never seen this move from Ellis Nash, I wonder what it is called.
Dave Kern: Since when have you been concerned with identifying the names of wrestling moves?
Third time??? Finish it off??? HELL NO! O’Shea shimmy’s and thwack, he edges back extending his elbow across the mat to connect with the skull of Ellis Nash in tandem with her crashing into the canvas. The crowd goes insane as Paddy O’Shea wastes no time slapping Ellis Nash into a sleeper hold as he does his best to force the high flying Nash to tap out.
His arm tightens it’s grip like an anaconda he engulfs Ellis Nash pulling tighter and tighter trying to squeeze every last breath from Ellis Nash. Forcing Ellis Nash to consider quitting Paddy O’Shea administers his submission like a good old dose of that shitty medicine your mother used to feed you.
Ellis Nash using all her strength smashes her elbow into Paddy O’Shea’s neck which causes him instantly to break his submission. Crawling to save her match Ellis Nash scatters towards the ropes, rolling out of the ring. The crowd cheers Ellis every inch of the way as she exits the ring. Going insane Paddy O’Shea begins to curse himself in the ring after having Ellis Nash so close to being beat. Despite his annoyance with himself Paddy O’Shea displays ring smarts only a wrestler with his experience would refusing to let his disappointment get the better of him.
Dave Kern: This match is taking itself outside the ring, this is where this contest could get interesting. Loads of space for Ellis Nash to execute anyone of her high flying arsenal of moves but also a lot of room for Paddy O’Shea to come with some innovative punishment.
O’Shea exits the ring via the middle rope in search of Nash but he can’t find her anywhere. Cunning Ellis Nash (not quite Baldrick but still cunning) had slipped into the ring under O’Shea’s radar while he was exiting… Ellis Nash rebounds off of the ropes furtherest away from Paddy O’Shea’s search, Ellis approaches O’Shea’s side, he notices, she springboards off of the top cable… suicide cannonball takedown!!!! Ellis Nash like a bowling ball to the pins strikes Paddy O’Shea flooring him.
The front rows of the crowd hammer on the barriers that divide them from the action causing an almighty noise. The referee drowned out by the AWC faithful had already reached four on his count.
FIVE! SIX!
Nash is up and she races back into the ring to break the count exiting straight away to retrieve Paddy O’Shea. She picks O’Shea back up attempting to put him back into the ring and finish the bout but O’Shea’s hands find the ring mat and using his upper body strength he is able to reverse the natural flow of the contest and repeal, elbow to the face of Ellis Nash which had this been a amateur boxing match would have scored Paddy O’Shea a good point. Pivoting O’Shea wastes no time, taking Ellis by the hand he launches Ellis Nash across the matted area into the cold, hard, unforgiving outside ring post.
Jeff Marx: Her pain makes me happy. I wish she’d give up wrestling and just get her tits out. She’d be a lot better at it.
Ellis rebounds off the ring post and Paddy O’Shea follows up by throwing Ellis Nash head first into the ring barriers. Blood, sweet and tears is what it take to get to the top of AWC, Paddy O’Shea is making sure that he makes Ellis Nash has experienced all three if she wants to progress in this company. Helpless Ellis Nash is at the mercy of the Irish AWC legend. O’Shea places Ellis Nash back into the ring and climbs up onto the ring apron… Woah! O’Shea is going to fly as he makes his way shockingly up onto the top rope. It is very rear that O’Shea gets to those dizzy heights. O’Shea knee drop to the forehead of Ellis Nash.
O’Shea makes the cover on Ellis Nash.
ONE!
Dave Kern: KICK OUT BY ELLIS NASH!
Ellis Nash scampers away but O’Shea is snappy implementing a headlock on Nash, he builds on this by dragging her into a standing position before she can get anywhere. He then moves closer to victory executing a Side Russian Leg Sweep on Nash, taking her down to the mat again. For a second time Paddy O’Shea points to the turnbuckle… “For shitz and gigglez”
Paddy climbs up to the second rope and faces the crowd getting their support, bad move, a wrestling voodoo almost as bad as going off alone in a bad horror movie or being the token black guy because you know something just isn’t going to be going your way, pretty soon.
Jeff Marx: Ellis spots her opening. Kinky bitch attacking a man when his back is turned, love it.
Double jumping knees to the back. Ellis grabs O’Shea’ head under her armpit, spins and runs gracefully planting Paddy O’Shea’s face into the ring mat (bulldog). Nash pin’s Paddy O’Shea, but it’s premature. (a fetus pin) O’Shea kicks out before the count of one. Before he can get back into the match she reasserts her dominance applying a front face lock. Nevertheless O’Shea tries get up and break free but Ellis Nash does her best to keep Paddy silent but she can’t hold on forever. Breaking free O’Shea nails Ellis Nash with two huge right boxing punches which knock her dizzy. Running back O’Shea uses the momentum he gains from the ropes to floor Ellis Nash. Before he can reach Ellis, she ducks and side steps… drop toe hold. O’Shea lands head on the second rope. Oh Mi God Cream Your Pants Moment, Ellis Nash explodes off to the ropes and choo choo’s back like a train, 6- 1 – never, not in AWC.
Dave Kern: Where you getting as excited as I was then Jeff?
Jeff Marx: She almost makes me wet. (looks at watch) only fifteen minutes left of this show. Only fifteen minutes left of listening to you act like an overgrown fan boy.
Falling off of the middle rope Paddy O’Shea avoids all contact. Nash lands on the ring apron facing away from O’Shea but manages to turnaround before Paddy O’Shea can get back up. Wasting no time Paddy O’Shea swings for Nash giving little to no thought to whether Ellis Nash was aware of him. She side steps, O’Shea is open… she charges across the ring apron towards the open head of Paddy O’Shea, GOLF! Driving elbow. Tiger Woods would have been proud of Ellis as she birdies Paddy O’Shea’s head.
SPRINGBOARD!!!
NECKBREAKER!!!
”HOLY SHIT! HOLY SHIT!”
Dave Kern: OH MY… The number one contender is about to get beaten. I think Ellis Nash has it Jeff. What will Commissioner Mike Wade make of Ellis Nash beating the Number one contender so close to the Pay Per View?
Almost defying gravity Ellis Nash passes Paddy O’Shea and as she does locks his head into position nailing a springboard neck breaker. Flowing through her move like a gymnast at the Olympics Nash poses for the crowd before rolling backwards and standing just in front of the grounded body of Paddy O’Shea.
Jeff Marx: Ok, I am sold. Ellis Nash is finally performing. And trust me I’ve talked to her man she doesn’t do that very often. *Chuckle*
Standing Moonsault… connects! Down goes the referee. Excitement reaches a highpoint, cameras pan around showing fans on their feet.
Dave Kern: Surely it can’t be over.
Jeff Marx: I know, just under a quarter of an hour left on the show what else we going to have? Maybe Chainz can rape someone?
ONE!
Dave Kern: *Ignoring Jeff* TWO!!!!
KICK OUT just after the two count.
Dave Kern: Jeff this is a Fresh! classic in the making. These two are going to take each other to one another’s limits tonight.
Jeff Marx: Cool.
Continuing to run on the momentum of her newly founded attacking nature in this contest Nash rolls over Paddy O’Shea and off to the ropes, gradually finding her feet. Off the ropes she pings, going back down into a ball. Mimicking the legendary Rob Van Dam, Ellis Nash executes a rolling thunder but again not in AWC! Paddy O’Shea curls his knees up at the last second giving Ellis Nash no out route.
Shooting up Paddy O’Shea takes Ellis Nash under his arm and DDT!!! Paddy O’Shea is instantly back into control and he makes the cover.
Dave Kern: (clearly almost creaming himself with excitement) Out of nowhere, against everything… this is why Jeff Marx, this is why!
ONE!
Jeff Marx: Why what?
TWO!
Ellis Nash’s right foot finds the bottom rope.
Dave Kern: So close. Why Paddy O’Shea is the man going one on one with Garbage Bag Johnny.
Paddy O’Shea slaps Ellis Nash’s foot off the rope showing slight annoyance at not being able to put her away. Dragging Ellis Nash into the middle of the ring Paddy O’Shea hoicks Ellis into the air and keeps her dangling which sends the crowd into hysteria.
“ONE! TWO! THREE! FOUR! FIVE! SIX! SEVEN! EIGHT! NINE! TEN!”
Hangman’s brainbuster. Paddy O’Shea doesn’t pin Ellis Nash instead he turns her over for a second…
“ONE! TWO! THREE! FOUR! FIVE! SEX! SEVEN! EIGHT! NINE! TEN!”
Jeff Marx: Hmmmm this is my favorite part of the contest when brutality and temper begin to rule supreme.
CRASH! Ellis Nash’s head uncomfortably hits the ring canvas. But again Paddy O’Shea refuses to cover Ellis Nash, picking her up for a third Hangman’s brainbuster.
“ONE! TWO! THREE! FOUR! FIVE! SIX! SEVEN! EIGHT! NINE! TEN!”
Down comes Ellis Nash. Paddy O’Shea feels it is over, if he pins Ellis Nash he can prove himself to the whole of the roster. He pins Ellis Nash.
ONE!
Jeff Marx: G O O D N I G H T E L L I S N A S H!
TWO!
KICK OUT??? WTF???
Jeff Marx: Paddy can’t believe it. He doesn’t understand. What more does he need to do?
Dave Kern: We do underestimate the heart of Ellis Nash.
Dusting himself off Paddy gets up off of the mat going back to work. He doesn’t touch Ellis Nash this time instead he waits for her to get herself up. Stalking Nash, Paddy O’Shea skips in her direction, extending his boot, for the purposes of face reconstruction (Free plastic surgery) but Nash bobs it. She can’t follow up. Her lack of awareness gives Paddy enough of a chance to come back with a clothesline but again Ellis Nash avoids contact. This time Ellis Nash does get some attack in nailing Paddy with a controlled knee kick, then running back to the ropes she explodes off of them….
Jeff Marx: We haven’t seen this in AWC for a while.
Dave Kern: Every wrestling boffin and smark worldwide loves it, the casual fans just think it rocks…
Jeff Marx: And Jamie Fletcher utterly ADORES it.
SHINNING WIZARD…
O’Shea puts his head in his lap and Ellis Nash’s knee whistles past his head.
Dave Kern: NO!
Hooking both of Ellis Nash’s arms as she whistles past Paddy O’Shea lifts Ellis up into the air on his back.
Trying to do flip Ellis Nash over his head with an X Factor-ish type move but Nash lands on her feet.
Dave Kern: Athleticism!
One Punch!
A Second Punch!
A Third fist…
Fofth, fifth…
Nash spins…
Paddy O’Shea connects with a crushing headbutt.
Jeff Marx: Now that is enough to make any man smile. If only Magnum Wolf could have seen that.
Clothesline downs Ellis Nash.
From being subject of a roaring punch to somehow being in control of the match.
O’Shea hooks Ellis Nash’s right leg.
ONE!
TWO!
Shoulder blade up!
Dave Kern: This must be deeply depressing for Paddy O’Shea, if he can’t put Ellis Nash away how will his offensive rival Garbage Bag Johnny.
Unbelievable nobody will ever dare question Ellis Nash’s commitment to the sport ever again. She refuses to let Paddy O’Shea win, O’Shea keeps coming at her giving everything in hope that she just gives up and bows out of the match. Trying to laugh it off O’Shea ships Ellis Nash to the corner of the ring propping her up for the attack. He runs at Nash, she moves but he is able to stop himself making any contact with the turnbuckle thus be saved from any real pain. Not getting too carried away Ellis Nash slaps Paddy O’Shea in a behind waist lock and pushes him forward into the turnbuckle… rolls…. GERMAN SUPLEX into a PIN!!!
ONE!
TWO!
Paddy O’Shea snatches the bottom rope. Spinning over onto her knees Ellis Nash picks Paddy O back up off the mat, she tries for a second suplex but it is countered with a huge elbow shot. O’Shea goes for a second, Ellis ducks and loosens the hold she has on Paddy slightly. Twirling in her grip O’Shea is repositioned, belly to belly suplex takes Paddy O’Shea to the mat. Popping off of Paddy’s gut Ellis Nash sprints to the turnbuckle, climbing rapidly. Reaching the top Ellis wastes no time incase she narrows the opportunity she has.
Dave Kern: I wonder what move of her brilliant top rope repertoire Ellis Nash will execute.
450 SPLASH OFF OF THE TOP. ELLIS NASH PINS PADDY O’SHEA!
Dave Kern: 450!
Jeff Marx: Come on. We’re going to get paid for doing nothing if this match ends now.
ONE!
TWO!
It’s over. Ellis is going to…
THR---
No O’Shea kicks out just before the referees hand can hit the canvas!
Jeff Marx: The last Countdown trophy holder escaped. I would have betted on the match being over.
Relief for the common wrestling fan, Fresh! is not over but disappear for Ellis Nash who was confident that she had finished Paddy O’Shea and that this match was over.
Screaming with confidence Ellis Nash heads towards the ring ropes with electricity flowing through her body. Jetting back she rolls and knee drop… no… she misses with the knee hitting sweet, sweet nothing!
Yes HYDE!!! YES!!! GUESS WHAT…
Dave Kern: Persistent is the word of the night.
Paddy O’Shea leans back into the ropes gently and falls back off… SHINNING WIZARD but unlike his opponent he connects. Again Paddy O’Shea pins Ellis Nash having just completely reversed the flow of action. But no Instead of pinning Ellis Nash, O’Shea sits over her chest and beats down upon her with a furious array of continuous elbow shots intended to wound her further before going for the finish. The fans encourage O’Shea shouting for every last blow he delivers maliciously to Ellis Nash’s beautiful yet worsening face.
Jeff Marx: Owww… Paddy O’Shea is typically Irish. I love it. Throw the man a Guinness.
Finally showing little tact Paddy O’Shea removes his Irish Ass from Ellis Nash’s stomach and begins to wonder across to the corner of the ring. For a moment he discusses climbing to the top rope with himself but talks himself out of it and reverts to more traditional Paddy O’Shea tactics of beating the shit out of his opponent like a street thug might.
Satisfaction? What does it mean? To some a promotion, to others a trophy wife and to others finding god… How about Paddy O’Shea, you guessed the blood streaming out of Ellis Nash’s mouth after an extra strong kick connects with Ellis Nash’s grill.
Dave Kern: We have blood on Fresh!. Paddy O’Shea is really going to take Ellis Nash past the point of no return. He does not want Ellis Nash to even consider taping out again.
Disturbing? Is the only word that springs to mind while the camera zooms in on the smile Paddy O’Shea has after his assault on Nash. Not a sick smile, just an ‘I am the best’ smirk which only a wrestler could have.
Figure four leg lock! Ellis Nash is in real trouble, the pain of the submission causes Ellis Nash to frantically search for the ropes but she is stranded unable to grab a hold of a safe heaven.
She begins to bang both hands on the canvas flopping like a fish caught in a fisherman (the capitalist kinds) net. It’s getting to much for Ellis, feeling faint she closes her eyes and falls back just resting for a moment trying to minimalise the pain in her mind in hope of finding clarity of direction.
The referee snatches Ellis Nash’s hand off of the mat and lifts it into the air, dropping it down ONCE!
He then drops it a SECOND TIME!!!
Jeff Marx: This is exactly what he wanted, things are going exactly how Paddy O’Shea had visioned they would.
HOOOOLLLY SHIzzzle…. NO!!! ELLIS keeps her hand afloat in classic style just avoiding defeat at the last second. However unlike in any fairytale recoveries Ellis is unable to capitalize on the situation and makes the heroes comeback. A more sinister chain of events occur… Paddy simply increases the strength he puts behind the submission thus making it more powerful and even nastier.
This time Ellis Nash’s eyes begin to fade in and out as the high flying wizards technical abilities and stamina begin to be brought to attention. O’Shea tenses all of his muscles applying maximum pressure on poor little Ellis Nash attempting to take everything out of her. O’Shea hawks Ellis Nash, he must be thinking knocking her out is the only way forward after so many pin attempt’s failing. The referee and O’Shea spot her head drop, she doesn’t comeback to life.
Dave Kern: Surely?
Jeff Marx: This is disgusting; you don’t need chairs when you have hands like Paddy O’Shea’s.
ARM GOES DOWN ONCE!
ARM GOES DOWN TWICE!
ARM GOES… NO ELLIS HANGS IN … ELLIS IS GIVING PADDY O’SHEA THE MATCH OF HIS LIFE!
“Let’s go Ellis” is the uniform chant from the sold out crowd. A subsection of “Fuck her up Paddy” chants also develop.
Giving Ellis the smallest of breathing room by standing up O’Shea gives her a window of opportunity but come on, this is reality… Ellis is pretty fucked and can’t do anything to combat O’Shea who turns Ellis over with little struggle and follows up his figure four leg lock with a Boston Crab!!!!
Eeeek. In changing the submission, Paddy O’Shea accidentally does it too close to the ropes… Ellis makes a speedy crawl for the ring cables, snatch!!!!
Jeff Marx: There is a way forward for Ellis Nash.
The crowd erupts and Paddy O’Shea is almost in tears after building up to the application of the Boston Crab beautifully but royally screwing it up. Scattering out of the ring like a rodent Ellis Nash makes for safety trying to utilize any chance she can get to get some breathing space. Taking the bait O’Shea chases Nash out of the ring, getting back into the ring Nash waits for O’Shea.
O’Shea jumps onto the ring apron but backs off trying to fool Ellis Nash into tangling herself up in the ropes but Nash see’s it coming and propels herself up onto the ring cables.
ELLIS NASH TAKES PADDY O’SHEA DOWN WITH A CROSSBODY SLINGSHOT!!!
Dave Kern: Paddy O’Shea is paying a large price for a very tiny technical error and it could cost him the match.
Up comes Ellis Nash, Paddy O’Shea is down and is paying a price for his slight technical error.
Nash uses all her energy rolling Paddy O’Shea back into the ring, she proceeds, climbing up onto the ring apron and then the top rope. The camera homes in on Ellis Nash’s face, the television screen can enable you to examine a wrestler’s state of mind and appearance much closer then in real life. A paused analysis of Ellis Nash shows that she is running out of steam, that the blood cut she had thrusted upon her earlier is now closing but that she is full of ambition.
Dave Kern: ELLIS NASH NEEDS TO WIN THIS MATCH NOW! LOOK AT HER JEFF SHE IS NEARING THE END OF THE TANK!
Jeff Marx: No she isn’t urging me to have a ****.
SHOOTING STAR PRESS!!!! CONNECTS!!! ELLIS NASH LANDS ON PADDY O’SHEA!!!
Down goes the referee.
ONE!
TWO!
Dave Kern: It must…
Putting the same dedication into the contest as Ellis Nash did Paddy O’Shea finds it in his tank to kick out.
Jeff Marx: Heh.
In an obscure, funny yet equally positive moment Ellis Nash stomps the shit out of Paddy O’Shea and for good measure nails Paddy with an aggressive grill stomp intended to cause serious damage. A second, then third grill kick causes Paddy O’Shea to dribble blood.
Dave Kern: Go girl.
Jeff Marx: What the…???
Ellis Nash lifts O’Shea up off of the canvas. She punches him once, hooks him a second… the third lands perfectly… Ellis twirls on the spot… roaring… O’Shea locks on a Full Nelson.
Dave Kern: That was awesome.
Jeff Marx: He has Nash, she must tap out, she can’t hold on. Surely this match has got to be over now.
Ellis Nash slips out of it and ducks…
Dave Kern: She’s free.
She Fireman carry’s Paddy O’Shea but O’Shea crabs the fireman’s carry and locks his hands around Ellis Nash’s head. Breaking free Nash can’t run, Paddy retakes control by forcing Ellis into a grounded head scissors. Is it a bird, is it a plain no… it’s the female Johnny Saint~! Ellis Nash handstands out of the head scissors. She then continues to flip onto her feet and without giving Paddy O’Shea anytime at all DROP KICKS HIM WITH THE STIFFIST OF DOUBLE FOOT KICKS EVER!!!
“HOLY SHIT!” is the unanimous verdict of the AWC Faithful.
Dave Kern: I don’t know what to say other then how Ellis Nash can still wrestle at such a speed. Unbelievable. I don’t think Paddy O’Shea would have known would have hit him while he was in the best of states.
Yet again Nash pins Paddy O’Shea.
ONE!
TWO!
Sharp snappy kick out from Paddy O’Shea. Draining all his energy Paddy O’Shea throws Ellis Nash off of him and across the ring but Ellis Nash lands on her feet.
She stalks Paddy O’Shea. Up he gets.
Jeff Marx: HAWKING THE PREY!!!!
ROUNDHOUSE KICK… O’Shea spots it and avoids any contact. Catching her left boot he locks a strict ankle lock on Ellis but she is able to counter very efficiently kicking back with her right boot which had intended to slap O’Shea into next week. This forces O’Shea to let Ellis go, Ellis rolls forward turning into a stand off with Paddy O’Shea which gets an ovation from the AWC fans.
Dave Kern: These two have gone beyond the meaning of this match now Jeff. This has turnt into a display of pure competitive wrestling. No dirty tricks, no weapons just good old fashioned wrestling and the fans love it. Just listen to the round of applause these two athletes are getting.
O’Shea extends his hand to Ellis Nash and the two warriors shake. The crowd claps the two honorable fighters before descending into divided chaos again, “Fuck him Ellis, Fuck him up”, “Fuck her up Paddy, fuck her up!” are the two equally represented sentiments amongst the sold out arena.
Jeff Marx: Yes fuck each other up. Shaking hands makes me sick.
The two tie up as if it was Ricky Steamboat and Ric Flair.
Grappling the two wrestlers struggle with one another until Ellis Nash is able to use her smaller size to maneuver around the body of Paddy O’Shea but O’Shea follows suit and before Ellis can firmly put Paddy under her control he jets around her. The two wrestlers in some kind of weird European style dance flip between controller and controlled in the waist lock tie up hold.
UNTIL FINALLY PADDY O’SHEA OUT OF NOWHERE LANDS AN ELBOW IN THE CHIN OF ELLIS NASH!
Dave Kern: Advantage O’Shea. Match point in the bottom of the firth at two sets apiece.
He places Ellis in a headlock but Ellis disconnects Paddy chucking him to the ropes.
Dave Kern: Deuce.
Jeff Marx: I’m not following.
Dave Kern: Tennis.
Jeff Marx: Federer.
DROPKICK~!
NOBODY IS HOME.
PADDY SNATCHED ONTO THE ROPES AND DIDN’T COME BACK.
Leaning back Paddy comes off of the ropes with a spring in his step but NO HYDE HE DOESN’T HIT A SHINNING WIZARD… In fact he bolts past Ellis to the ropes behind her, darting back he runs through Ellis his knee swinging into the back of Ellis Nash’s skull.
Down goes Ellis Nash.
Dave Kern: Goodnight Ellis Nash.
Jeff Marx: Woah!
Paddy O’Shea pins Ellis Nash.
ONE!
TWO!
The referee stops. Nash has her elbow up. The crowd goes insane. They begin to chant as Ellis Nash is plucked off of the mat by Paddy O’Shea and jacked up onto the top rope turnbuckle.
Jeff Marx: Top of the Morn time!
Ellis pushes forward which sends Paddy O’Shea into a frenzy. Climbing onto the second rope O’Shea begins to beat down on Ellis Nash but hunching she drills O’Shea in the stomach. (On the ‘ead son!)
Dave Kern: Both of them are fucked.
Neither makes a move as the divided fans chant remaining 50/50. Ellis lifts her head up… Wraps her hands around the waist lock Paddy O’Shea.
TOP ROPE SUNSET FLIP into a PIN!
Down goes the referee…
ONE!
TWO!
FUCKING HELL O’Shea tightens his legs around Ellis Nash’s head and turns it over into a pin of his own.
Dave Kern: Reversed!
ONE!
TWO!
Ellis loosens O’Shea’s pin and escapes.
Dave Kern: Escape!
Sprinting into the ropes Ellis Nash runs towards Paddy O’Shea and leap frogs O’Shea’s weak attempt at a back body drop. She then hops up onto the ring cable, jumping backwards she successfully lands behind Paddy O’Shea.
DECREE!!! She takes Paddy O’Shea’s head out of nowhere.
Jeff Marx: DECREE! DECREE! THE FUCKING DECREE!
Dave Kern: Ellis Nash is…
ONE!
Jeff Marx: I don’t b---
TWO!
Dave Kern: Going to…
THREE!
Dave Kern: Pin the number one contender cleanly!
Jeff Marx: How did she do it?
Pierre Perroquet: Ze weener, after twenty sree minutes and fifty five seconds of wrestling… ELLIS NASH!
Dave Kern: That's the end of the show! We'll see you next week for more Fresh!
Jeff Marx: Tune in for PRIME-beating action!