TD: Sarcasm is the lowest form of wit, Steve. BL: But your toupee is the lowest form of life, Timmy. TD: Can we leave my hair out of this?! In any case, we're getting ever closer to that huge double main event, but first... Steve? SR: [interrupting] Hey... hey, Dross. I have someone I want you guys to meet. [A heavy-set, approximately 45 year old man, wearing a "L'il Soundbiter" t-shirt, walks into the frame and heartily slaps Becky LaRue on the back. He is obviously inebriated.] BL: I'm gonna have to burn that. TD: It's just fabric, Becky, it'll be fine. BL: I meant my back. SR: I want you to meet one of my "L'il Soundbiters", here... what's your name, son? L'IL: Soundbite rules! Yeah! Ring Wars 3! Damn, you are hot, Becky! Yeah Doggies! TD: This is just sad, Steve. SR: I'll tell you what's sad, that you don't have a piece of my t-shirt deal. This is gonna be the hottest piece of merchandise in all of sports entertainment. TD: Entertainment? BL: Sports? SR: Look, it's beautiful... [Roberts maneuvers his "L'il Soundbiter" around, showing the front of the shirt: "Steve Soundbite Roberts: Kickin' Da Ass..."; and on the back, "...Eatin' Da Biscuits..."] SR: Damn, that's a helluva thing. Forget those guys like Creed and Petrow with their... shirts, this is a shirt for the kids... that's who I'm really all about, dammit, the kids, like L'il.... goddammit what is your name, moron...? I mean, L'il Moron. TD: Let's get to ringside. ### # # ### -------------------------------------------------------. # # # # # IIWF INTERCONTINENTAL CHAMPIONSHIP MATCH: | ### # # # ### | # # ## ## # Lord Byron [c] vs. Marty Warnett | # # # # ### -------------------------------------------------------' WRITER: JJ [Sparkplug Lee runs his hands through what can no longer even be accurately described as thinning brown hair and then, oddly, mouths the words, "losing love is like a window to your heart." And takes the mic:] SL: The following Ring Wars 3 contest is set for one fall with a thirty minute time limit...and is for the IIWF Intercontinental Championship! [Big pop!] Introducing first, weighing 245 lbs, from Cardiff, Wales, the "Party Maniac"... MARTY WARNETT! ["Cold Gin" is barely heard over the volley of fireworks that explode from banks all around Skydome. Warnett appears at the top of the aisle, the voluptuous blonde Shawni Michelle on his arm. An enoromous pop rises from the capacity crowd as Warnett begins a slow walk down the aisle, the Canadian flag clearly evident on the back of his flowing spangled robe. Warnett removes the robe with a flourish as he hits the ring, a huge grin enveloping his face as he takes in the cheers of the mammoth crowd. He hands the robe to the young lady and offers up his cheek for a quick peck... receives it gratefully... and gives a knowing wink to the camera as every head in the Skydome watches young Shawni Michelle make her way back up the aisle.] TD: Well, the former champion certainly can make an entrance... SR: And he can make an exit too, Dross, right out of this match, right out of Ring Wars 3, and right out of the IIWF while he's at it. BL: He's really overcompensating, parading around that young bimbette, sashaying her little be-hind around all of Canada just to make... to make... Lady DeWinter jealous. SR: Hah! TD: Your powers of perception are overwhelming. [Warnett furtively waves at a number of his ringside fans as he limbers up in preparation for the entrance of his opponent.] SL: And his opponent... accompanied to the ring by Lady DeWinter...[Big heel pop as "Intermezzo from Karelia Suite" blares forth from the P.A.] ...at a weight of 265 lbs, he currently resides in New Orleans, Louisiana, and is the IIWF Intercontinental Champion... LORD BYRON! [Byron strides into the aisle, the luminous DeWinter on his arm, bedecked in a gold pinned black Donna Wang original. Byron's traditional garb has been replaced with a red hunting jacket, a white shirt, white leggings with a black sash and brown riding boots. Missing is the brass topped cane, replace with a brown riding crop which Byron smugly waves at a group of young fans who are bowing in deference to the IC champ.] TD: If anything, Mr. Byron's air is even more empirious than usual. SR: You want to talk foul air -- the Psycho's match is coming up next. [Lord Byron holds the ropes open for his ward DeWinter as they reach the ring -- she accepts gracefully and then moves behind Byron to slowly, drippingly remove the Intercontinental Championship belt from his waist. DeWinter hands the belt to Byron... who kisses it... then kisses the porcelain hands of his ward... and then hands her the belt, holding open the ropes again as DeWinter takes her place at ringside... glancing briefly over her shoulder at Warnett as she departs.] TD: Well, quite a scene here to open up this contest, I just can't get a fix on the feelings of this increasingly enigmatic DeWinter. BL: Not that you wouldn't like to, isn't that right, Timmy? I know a secret... I know a secret... TD: Becky, have you gotten Steve's biscuits yet? SR: Hah! You tell her, Dross. I'm beginning to like you more and more. TD: I'm not sure how to take that, Steve. [Byron and Warnett have cautiously circled, each man refusing to venure thoughtlessly... then they lock up... Byron quickly with a standing side headlock... which Warnett reverses... Byron goes behind and moves for a waistlock takedown... standing switch by Warnett... back into the headlock and an Irish Whip... big armdrag takeover by Warnett! POP! Byron is back on his feet and is taken down with another big armdrag and Warnett bars the arm.] TD: Good, crisp start for the former champion. BL: And it looks like DeWinter seems to enjoy it, what is wrong with this girl? [Byron attempts to maneuver from the armbar, but Warnett maintains the hold and cinches it up with a forward and backward roll of the arm... Byron is on his feet, and attempts a crescent kick... which Warnett slips and quickly maneuvers into position for a reverse neckbreaker... which Byron counters with a roll into a backslide and a... 1 - 2 - kickout by Warnett. Each man is up... Byron whips Warnett nearside... Marty leapfrogs and then backleaps Byron from the other side... Warnett sends a dropkick... which Byron slips... Warnett hits the deck, but monkeyflips Byron over him. Big Pop! But Byron remains on his feet and drives at Warnett with a clothesline as Warnett rises, but not fast enough, as Warnett is able to duck and lock on a crucifix that sends Byron... NO! A crucifix that sends Marty himself down as it is countered with a Samoan Drop! Big heel pop!] TD: See, right there... that's exactly the kind of mistake that you simply cannot make against Lord Byron. He is too technically proficient, too smart, and now Lord Byron is going to focus all his energies on a portion of Marty Warnett's anatomy. BL: He's not the only one focusing on Warnett's anatomy. Lady DeWinter hasn't taken her radar off him for a second during the match. SR: Yeah, maybe so, but she doesn't look all that bothered by the turn of events. I think she's with Byron all the way, Becks. [DeWinter gave both a little hop, perhaps with joy, at the Warnett crucifix, and then a small yelp, perhaps with excitement, as Byron brought him down with the Samoan Drop. Byron has a wrenching chinlock applied now which he is using in combination with a floating armbar to frustrate the ex-champ. Warnett tries a takeover... but Byron jabs a sharp knee between his shoulders and moves to a reverse chinlock -- pressing hard against a straining Warnett in a modified bow and arrow submission maneuver.] TD: Warnett is obviously in a great deal of pain. BL: And I'd say DeWinter looks pretty concerned about him, look at the way she's hiding that mug of hers, like she's almost hurt by looking at him. SR: I think she's trying to hide her laughter at what kind of a chump Warnett is. [The crowd begins a chant of "Mar - ty! Mar - ty! Mar - ty!" and Warnett tries to power out of the hold... flexing... pushing... his tank being fueled by the energy of the fans... and he's up! With one elbow, two elbows, three... NO! Byron sends him back down with a spinning neckbreaker that crashes Warnett into the canvas! Big heel pop! Byron dives down for a cover, and Warnett rolls him into an inside cradle -- Byron reverse cradles for a cover - 1 - 2 - Warnett reverses again for a cover -- and the two men go rolling outside to the floor! Pop! Byron is up quickly, landing a series of hard boots to Warnett's head, then picking him up and looking to whip him into the steel steps...] TD: Lady DeWinter jumped in the way! Lady DeWinter's protecting Marty Warnett! SR: Come on Byron, deck her! Put her in her place! Anybody else hungry? [DeWinter pleads with Byron not to whip Warnett into the steps, the Englishman pauses a moment, takes stock of the crowd... many of whom are encouraging him to heed his ward's wishes... ...and Byron's hesitation costs him, Warnett snapping him to the ground with a side Russian leg sweep! Pop! Warnett hops to the apron... and comes down on a fumbling Byron with a big double axe. Pop! Warnett puts a boot to Byron, thrustkicks him flat to the floor, and then rises again, moving to the apron and climbing to the top rope...] TD: There she is again... now she's standing in Warnett's way, Lady DeWinter is standing over Lord Byron's body and preventing Marty Warnett from coming down off the top rope! Unbelievable! [Warnett feverishly motions for DeWinter to move, but she does not. Warnett pulls his brown hair away from his face... and leaps! DeWinter is just able to move out of the way... and Warnett comes crashing down on Byron's head with a flying fistdrop! Pop!] TD: There's the choice! There's the choice that I was talking about on "Inside the IIWF". Is it the belt or the girl? Byron relented... and Warnett attacked... and I think Lady DeWinter's beginning to understand that. [DeWinter grabs at Warnett's arm as Marty stands over Byron... Warnett quickly pulls it away and stares hard at DeWinter, causing the Lady to take a step back. Pop! Warnett scoops up Byron, who jabs him in the eye with his thumb, and then sends him hard to the floor with a snap suplex. Heel Pop!] SR: Thumb to the eye... that'll stop an elephant. [Byron then re-enters the ring, gives an exaggerated bow to the heel popping fans, and waits for Warnett's return. Each man is in the ring, Byron motioning for Warnett to accept a collar and elbow. Warnett is tentative, but does accept, and the lock up is clean. Byron moves to a standing side headlock... whipping Warnett farside... and catching a flying shoulderblock on his return from "The Party Maniac"! Big Pop!.. Byron is up quickly and then snapped down with a savate kick from Warnett! Pop! Warnett bounces farside into a springboard crossbody... caught by Byron! Tilt-a-whirl backbreaker by the Champion! Pop! Warnett is quickly on his feet, landing a european uppercut... but is taken down with a front layout suplex! BIG POP!] TD: He's got him set up... he's, well, Byron's not going for the Aristoclutch yet! He's not going for it yet! SR: Not yet, Dross, but it's coming... look at him on the mat now. Look at Lord Byron twisting away at the upper torso. Warnett's almost out of here, Dross. BL: Look at DeWinter! She's on the apron... and she's got the Intercontinental belt! [Warnett powers from the hold, the crowd now firmly behind the Welshman as he Irish whips Byron... but is caught with a gutwrench suplex that sends him back to the mat. POP! Warnett is up again... Byron whips him farside... Warnett misses a clothesline and Byron maneuvers... but Warnett counters with a devastating salto suplex that brings the crowd to its feet and...] TD: Marty Warnett's hooked on his figure four! Is it the end for...? No! SR: Byron's got an Indian Deathlock... Byron's got an Indian... BL: NO! It's Warnett! It's Warnett... no! [Each man feverishly reverses leglocks as the crowd squeals, both men give brief shouts of pain, impossible to determine which is the man who has the more painful hold on the other... it's Warnett... it's Byron... it's... together they move near the ropes as the official drops to the mat looking for a submission, asking each man for a submission...] TD: Look at DeWinter! DeWinter's still on the apron! She doesn't know... BL: She's swinging that belt! TD: Oh my! [Lady DeWinter brings the IC belt down hard at the rapidly moving, rapidly shifting, duo grappling on the mat....] TD: She hit Marty Warnett! She hit Warnett with that belt! [Warnett is clocked as the official was checking for a submission, and now Lord Byron covers for the pinfall attempt...] TD: That's one... SR: That's two... BL: That's... a kickout by Warnett! [Huge roar from the Skydome crowd as Warnett kicks out, DeWinter is now off the apron and stares at the belt in her hands... looking clearly shaken as Byron now viciously attacks the legs of Warnett.] TD: That proves it... that proves it, DeWinter has chosen Byron, just like Byron chose DeWinter earlier in the match -- she's with... well, wait a minute... BL: I don't think this girl knows what she's doing, Timmy. I think she closed her eyes when she swung that belt. SR: You people are morons. [Byron is not to be denied... all over Warnett with hamstring tears, kneedrops, a half dozen vicious shinbreakers... and now moving to a grapevine that has Warnett gasping for breath and grasping fervently, wildly, painfully for the ropes.] TD: This grapevine is brutal... Lord Byron is devastating the legs of Marty Warnett... he's trying to... he can't reach the ropes... he's gonna submit! BL: Look at DeWinter! DeWinter's near the ropes. She can push the bottom rope to Warnett! DeWinter's gonna save... TD: ...NO! DeWinter doesn't know what to do! She looks paralyzed with indecision! DeWinter's just standing there! What the hell's going on? SR: Morons... no, wait... maybe I'm being unfair... no, you're morons. [DeWinter finally moves to the bottom rope..placing her hand on it... but the hesitation was too great, and Byron drags Warnett to the center of the ring where he moves from a half crab... to a cobra clutch!] TD: He's got him now. Marty Warnett is in a whole heaping pile of trouble. SR: He's gonna quit! I told you that he was gonna quit and here he is quitting. Qutting like Duran... quitting like Nixon... quitting like Alex Rio! BL: I wouldn't go that far, Steve. SR: That's the first time you've ever said that, LaRue. [Byron rocks back on the cobra clutch as the crowd begins a desperate chant... "Mar - ty! Mar - ty! Mar - ty!" and Warnett begins to power out! Warnett is lifting up... powering up.... now Byron shows fear... Byron shows real concern that his title may be slipping away... Warnett is up and fires away with big elbows... and whips Byron to the near side -- and then sends Byron crashing to the mat with a brainbuster suplex! Warnett quickly goes to the top rope, comes down with an elbow... and lands it! Warnett is swiftly back to the top rope. Byron begins to stand... Warnett leaps with a missle dropkick...] TD: No! Byron just pulled the referee... pulled the official into the path of that dropkick! SR: Referee down! Referee down! [Both Byron and Warnett are clearly spent, running only on instinct and the compulsive desire to win the IIWF Intercontinental Championsip. Byron Irish whips Warnett... Marty ducks under a clothesline and grabs on the the back ropes as Byron charges... and is backdropped by Warnett over the top rope and clear out to the floor! POP! Warnett bounds off the backropes as Byron struggles to his feet... and baseball slides Byron clear back to the retaining barrier! POP! Warnett picks up Byron and attempts to ram his head into the retaining barrier... DeWinter screams... Warnett hesitates and Byron goes to ram Warnett's head into the barrier... but Warnett blocks -- and is able to ram Byron's head! Big pop!] SR: Morons. [Warnett now whips Byron... reverse... and Warnett goes hard into the apron. Pop!] BL: What's she doing...? DeWinter is going into the ring to try to wake up the official! [Byron charges, and is caught with a big boot from Warnett. POP! The two men now brawl, each swinging wild lefts and rights as they walk up the steps... fight and walk up the turnbuckles... and stand on the top rope, each fighting, brawling, swinging with all they are worth... DeWinter places the IC belt down on the mat as she tries to wake the official... seeming not to notice the two men who are hurtling down...] TD: Superplex! That's a Warnett belly-to-belly superplex! Oh my! BL: Warnett hit his head on that belt! He's out... Byron's out... Both men are out! SR: Morons. [Byron took the brunt of the superplex, but Warnett went over, smashing his head on the IIWF IC belt, and now both men are down, along with the official, as Lady DeWinter stands in the middle of the ring amidst the carnage. And then she picks up the belt.] TD: DeWinter's got the belt... She's gonna... what's she gonna do? SR: Morons. [As the crowd pops madly, Byron and Warnett, one on each side of DeWinter, begin to struggle to their knees. The official is still down. DeWinter stands between the two men, and begins to slowly smack her hand across the belt... as if coming to a decision...] TD: What's she going to do now?! [Lady DeWinter slyly smiles, rears back the belt, and walks over to Marty Warnett. SHOCKED POP!] TD: She kissed him! She kissed him again! SR: Morons. [DeWinter gives Warnett a lingering kiss as Byron looks on, unable to make any sort of a motion... the crowd pops wildly as DeWinter then slowly turns to face Lord Byron...] TD: OH MY! [...and then whirls around again -- drilling Marty Warnett right between the eyes with the belt! Huge heel pop as DeWinter places the belt over her shoulder and exits the ring, heading back up the aisle as the official stirs and Byron covers for a - 1 - 2 - 3! Ding! Ding! Ding!] SL: Your winner, as a result of a pinfall, and _still_ IIWF Intercontinental Champion... LORD BYRON! [Big pop as Byron quickly rolls out of the ring, hurriedly walking up the aisle, leaving Warnett to groggily get to his knees, then burying his face in his hands, the pain of losing both the girl and the shot at re-gaining his belt too much.] TD: Well, that was one of the most... amazing... miraculous... wild matches I have ever seen -- who could have predicted that? SR: Morons. Look, morons -- she hit him with the belt two weeks ago, and she hit him with the belt three different times tonight. I don't think his last name is Warnett -- I think it's McFly. Hello, McFly...? You're being set up... Hello, McFly! [Warnett walks dejectedly up the aisle, slapping the hands of his supportive ringside fans as he exits. Cut back to the announcers' table.] TD: A crushing disappointment here for Marty Warnett. Byron and DeWinter played him like a violin... Unbelievable. Who knows what kind of an effect this setback is going to have on Marty's somewhat, uh, unstable mental attitude? SR: More importantly: who cares? TD: You're despicable, Steve.