Let Us . . . Spice Things Up, Shall We?

Characters: American Hero III, Ken Kaze, & Polar

As the lights of the Nassau Veterans Memorial Coliseum entirely disappeared, an alarming and anticipating calm overwhelmed the fans in attendance. The RaveTron flickered rapidly, unnerving the audience additionally until it finally secured itself onto a screen of snowy static, accompanied by the piercing screech static usually tends to produce. Pyrotechnics rocketed skyward in random assortments of green, white, and yellow as the squealing was quickly replaced by the sounds of Static-X’s “Structural Defect.”

The illumination of the arena had returned as the crowd broke into a chorus of cheers. Emerging from the curtains was Jolt’s Resident Moron . . . the Hero of Hardcore . . . the self-proclaimed Mastermind of the Piledriver . . . Ken Kaze. Despite his customary entrance, George the Trashcan did not accompany him as per usual. He was exclusively on a mission, and wanted to make sure George’s innocence could be violated no longer. Thus, George was still sitting inside of the safe confines of the cafeteria where he was seen earlier throughout the evening.

Ken’s demeanor had changed none since his earlier appearance during the night. He was still emotionless with his crazed stare as he dragged his body nonchalantly down the aisle, making headway toward the squared circle ahead. His appearance had not changed either as he donned his bloodstained golden yellow and emerald green wrestling tights; his hair still coated with blood, dirt, and perspiration; and the rest of his body covered in the very familiar crimson plasmatic fluid.

Despite his obvious filth, the fans still wanted to be a part of the full Jolt Wrestling Tuesday Night Intense experience as they reached out hoping his shoulder would brush against their hand.

Kaze immediately slid into the ring only to roll to his feet. As he approached the commentator tableside of the ring, he signaled for a microphone. A stagehand obeyed appropriately as Ken reached over the top rope to receive the item he sought.

The jubilation inside of the arena intensified to another decibel as the man standing before their very eyes began to raise the microphone to his mouth.

“You know,” he started, immediately interrupted with an overbearing chant.

KEN KAZE!

KEN KAZE!

KEN KAZE!

Ken showed no reaction to the encouraging intone of his name. He only continued on with the spontaneous speech he had come out here to deliver.

“You know,” he repeated, “there’s only one reason why I decided to come here tonight. And let me tell you this, first: it’s not to wrestle.”

The audience jeered faintly at this comment because the reason they had come to this event was to see some wrestling. And no matter who it was denying them a wrestling match, they were getting booed.

“Well – well, let me continue first,” Ken said. “No, the reason why I’m here tonight is not to wrestle . . . but it is to fight!”

The crowd apparently had granted Kaze his redemption as they were now again on his side, cheering fervently.

“Sylo, these past couple of weeks have been literal hell for me. On the contrary, it has been nothing but pure satisfaction and contentment in your eyes. I could tell you loved every second of the fact that you held me in captivity, rendering me useless. I could tell you also loved the fact you began to break me down physically and mentally. All of that bulls[BEEP!]t nonsense about some wetback trying to murder you in your sleep. About someone framing you with some cocaine in your home. You weren’t framed, were you Sylo? Come on, let’s face it. White’s not your favorite color just because it’s the shade of semen. Plus, as if it wasn’t obvious, what kind of heterosexual dyes his hair blue? Oh, yeah. A GAY ONE!”

He broke into laughter at the punch line of his own joke. The spectators’ confused looks seemed to bewilder him as well, as he had not understood he had actually contradicted himself with his lame attempt at an insult. Nonetheless, he continued.

“Everything was fine and dandy until your Smurfette reject f[BEEP!]ker mother ass came along, Sylo. The Retort was my retort to Polar for his unjust actions against George. It was his chance to pay the piper. It was justice I was carrying out. And I was doing it! Righteousness was only moments away of being achieved as the referee was ready to declare Polar unconscious. But noooooo,” he said in a contemptuous tone, “the fag McMuffin had to get involved; had to make an entrance; had to try to make a name for himself. Well, Sylo, things don’t exactly work like that around here. If you try to pull s[BEEP!]t like that around here – as the Brawler would probably say – you get dealt with, homie.”

Ken pulled the microphone away from his mouth as the multitudes of people in attendance were still cheering. He began to pace around the ring in a complete circle for a moment. Eventually, he came to a halt once more, and positioned the microphone back toward his mouth.

“And ever since you challenged me to a fight at One Night In: Winnipeg, I’ve been thinking about. Sylo versus Kaze. Not in a wrestling match; a fight. That is, after all, what you said, isn’t it?” he questioned as if Sylo were standing before him, ready to answer his queries. “Sure it is. But I was thinking, the ONI is two weeks away. That’s too long.”

Pandemonium erupted as the fans now knew what this was leading to. Kaze was about to call out the Superbeast. They were going to see a preview from the upcoming pay-per-view event already.

“So, why don’t you come on out, and get your ass kicked!”

Was Ken truly this stupid? Anyone with half a brain would never call out the Superbeast to an impromptu battle. That was just something you didn’t do. Especially if you stood only five feet, eleven inches tall and weighed only one hundred ninety-eight pounds compared to the very man you were calling out who stood seven feet, one inch tall and weighed three hundred ninety-five pounds. That was not only a foot clearance, but also a two hundred pound difference. Allow me to reiterate myself: was Ken truly this stupid?

If you havin’ girl problems, I feel bad for you son.

I got ninety-nine problems, but a bitch ain’t one.

HIT ME!

Mayhem raged throughout the coliseum as the Collision Course remix of Jay-Z’s “99 Problems” and Linkin Park’s “One Step Closer” resounded all through the stadium, blaring from the public announce system. The lights had dropped simultaneously as blue lasers divided the darkness in the same fashion Moses parted the Red Sea. Eventually the lights returned as the unexpected arrival of the Iceman, Polar, was made. The curtain from the stage was thrown to the side as the six foot, five inch behemoth emerged onto the top of the ramp way. Jeers and hisses poured onto the stage as the corner of the Alaskan Assassin’s lips began to curl into a smile.

Obviously perplexed by his forgotten adversary’s appearance, Ken had finally shown true emotion for the first time of the night. He was stalking around the ring, wondering what it was exactly that Polar may have wanted.

Polar simply grinned as he placed his own microphone to his lips.

“Well, well, well, Kaze,” he began, “with that Blue Meanie impersonator reject walking around, it seems you have forgotten your true threat in this world. ME! It seems like you and Sylo have had quite the time lately. Oh, with Sylo interfering in our match at the Retort, giving you the win. That was very well planned, Ken, I must admit. You’re not as dumb as you look.”

His eyes fell to his feet for a moment, but he quickly peered back up to engage into a stare down contest with Kaze, holding his hand up in the air.

“I take that back. You are as dumb as you look.”

YOU SUCK!

YOU SUCK!

YOU SUCK!

The infamous You Suck! Kurt Angle chant had invaded Jolt Wrestling, now being recited solely for the Iceman.

“You think it isn’t obvious, Kaze? You think I believe Sylo just appearing seemingly out of nowhere was a chance coincidence? Ha! Yeah, right. This little kidnapping that you both have staged over the past couple of weeks may have deceived these retarded Yankees, but not me!”

PLEASE GO DIE! – clap – clap – clapclapclap

PLEASE GO DIE! – clap – clap – clapclapclap

PLEASE GO DIE! – clap – clap – clapclapclap

“Wipe that stupid look off of your face, you f[BEEP!]king retard,” Polar roared, ignoring the insulting chorus of the fans. “You know what I’m talking about. As we all learned from Sylo’s worthless history lesson last week, you both have a history together. Your lives have intertwined in the past, and on more than one occasion. Sure, you both can play it off as if you have bad blood. But I know damn well you paid the Super Steroid Abuser to interfere in our match to give you the win. You knew you couldn’t defeat me fair and square inside the ring. It was obvious throughout the entire match, the way I domineered over you like you were an inadequate servant.

“It was only a matter of seconds before I countered that poorly-applied cloverleaf leglock of yours. I was biding my time, allowing you to get your hopes up. Only so I could destroy them as I powered out of the submission hold, and spiked your head through the canvas with the Icecap! F[BEEP!]k Ito’s Ice Age, I’m the true Bringer of the Ice Age in Jolt. And the Retort was supposed to be the beginning!

“Alas, it’ll start tonight, however. I seem to recall Sylo challenging you to a match that you agreed upon at One Night In: Winnipeg. I also seem to recall my name being mentioned as he said he was going to get me involved. Well, there’s no need for that. I’m throwing my name into the hat now. Therefore, it’s official. Polar will destroy both you and Sylo at the pay-per-view.

“Also, to start off my Ice Age . . . in my hand,” he said as he reached behind him to reach into his back pants pocket. As his hand came into view once more, a rolled slip of paper was in his grasp. “I have a contract, signed by American Hero the Third himself, to wrestle you tonight!”

Chaos ensued as the coliseum exploded with cheers at the announced rematch. The fans were going to get to see some wrestling tonight from Ken Kaze after all.

The news seemed to have no affect over Ken. He simply walked toward Polar and stopped as he reached the ropes. Ken remained impassive, the crazed, stone-faced look more apparent than ever before.

“So, you wanna get your ass handed to you again, do ya? Sounds like a deal, you f[BEEP!]king Santa Claus reject. Forget Ito’s Ice Age. Forget Polar’s Shite Age. Because tonight, you’ll understand just how devastating global warming can be. Maybe, after I defeat you once more, you’ll return to the North pole with the penguins!”

“Penguins are in the southern hemisphere, moron.”

Despite his obvious mistake, Ken did not bother to correct himself. Instead, his second true emotion of the night shown through as fury overwhelmed him. In an instant he had dropped the microphone, vaulted over the top rope onto the outside, and began a brisk walk toward his rival. Forget the wrestling match. Kaze wanted a fight. And a fight he was going to get, for Polar dropped his microphone and advanced toward his foe as well.

“Stop it!” a voice exclaimed. “Stop. It. NOW!”

The voice that had resounded over the P.A. system belonged to the very man who appeared on the RaveTron.

AMERICAN HERO III!

The crowd’s excitement had died as a slight jeering session materialized on the floor level seats. They were about to witness a brawl. And anytime American Hero III shows his face before a battle is about to commence, you know for a fact he is about to prohibit it.

And prohibited the fracas was as both Kaze and Polar turned their attention toward the RaveTron. Ken had only managed to make it a little past the bottom of the ramp. Polar had not made much progress, either.

“I forbid both . . . of you to lay . . . a hand on the other . . . I did not sign . . . your contract, Polar . . . for no reason at all . . . I signed it because . . . I wanted to see . . . a well fought match . . . tonight at Intense . . . between the two of you . . . However, if you both . . . decide to brawl before . . . the time comes for . . . your match, it would only . . . spoil the event . . . Therefore, if either of . . . you two touch the other . . . both of you will . . . be fined ten thousand dollars . . . Yes, that is serious money . . . and I’m almost positive . . . neither of you are . . . willing to risk that much . . . Perhaps I’m wrong . . . either way, this brawl . . . will not happen.”

The jeers’ intensity heightened at the prevention of a near brawl.

“However . . . with the recent announcement . . . of the triple threat match . . . between Ken Kaze, Polar, and Sylo . . . at One Night In: Winnipeg . . . let’s spice things up a bit . . . shall we? . . . Tonight, during the Kaze versus  . . . Polar match, I have an . . . addition to make . . .”

The jeers vanished from the Nassau Veterans Memorial Coliseum as they anticipated the latest announcement that was about to become.

“I’ll give Senior Jolt Wrestling Official . . . Mark Lenoux the night off . . . Tonight, your special guest . . . referee will be none other . . . than the Superbeast himself . . . SYLO! . . . Have fun, gentlemen.”

With that blockbuster publication, American Hero III’s image disappeared from the RaveTron as the amount of cheerful passion in the audience’s voices amplified.

Polar turned around to face Ken Kaze, who was staring right back at him. It was obvious Polar disliked this stipulation as he began to shout obscenities before flipping Kaze off whilst stomping to the back.

The Hero of Hardcore only smiled. He was pleased with this announcement. Not only would he prove to Polar that he had the match won at the Retort despite Sylo’s beneficial interference, but he would be inside the squared circle with the very man he had been searching for earlier.

The search was now over. His man would walk right into his grasps.