[The credits for Good Times fade to black.. as darkness envelopes the screen for a few brief moments. With that, a logo displaying "GIPA 68" comes on the channel blue on white.. a simple yet effective diamond shape making the logo. A voiceover hits the air..] V/O: You are watching Grand Isle Public Access.. channel Sixty-Eight. Coming up next..watch the hard-hitting action of Grand Isle, Louisiana's local wrestling company.. Grand Isle Wrestling!! Two hours of jam-packed southern style wrestling at it's finest! Only here.. on channel Sixty-Eight! [And with that the camera fades out.. and the screen remains black..] "_CLICK_" [And then the sounds of crackling nature can be heard. For those that remember microcassette tapes, there is an instant recognition that this is the beginning of one of those. Soon, a voice can be heard from the hum of the speaker.] V/O: This is Jeremiah Spize... I hope this tape safely reaches you Harisoto Mashima. For two years now, my life has been changed, it has been a life of torment and torture carried about by the man that you refer to as simply the Scrayper. [There is a sigh from the voice.] V/O: In whatever way he saw fit, he found it necessary to hurt and abuse me at his will. I was a fool, but my eyes are no longer shut... I no longer believe him to be a demon sent from whatever pit to punish me for falling from grace. I was once a priest, I was once a man with an honor and a code... though, time is short here and I cannot speak long. [There is a pause in the tape. It seemingly resumes after a brief moment.] V/O: Tonight, you did the impossible... tonight, you put the Scrayper down and hurt him like he's never been hurt before. I can imagine that his rage will now be turned towards you, and for that I do wish for your safety, however... this turn of events as given me the opportunity I needed to escape his bonds... [Another pause, but by Spize this time, and not the tape.] V/O: This has presented the chance to find the woman that the Scrayper had referred to... Isabelle. I leave now to find the truth about things and when I return, I hope that you are the one that is victorious against the Scrayper, and maybe... just maybe, he'll be the one in pieces... I wi- "_CLICK_" [Slowly, the camera fades in to a shot of the microcasette player and a black taped hand that holds a finger over the stop button. The camera pulls back and more and more of the obvious is shown, the Scrayper sits at a table with the player out in front of him, his masked head is looking down and the rubber strands of "hair" have all fallen forward. Just then his low hissing voice can be heard.] S: No Spize... when you find the real truth of things, you're going to be the one in pieces. [And with that we fade to black.] [The scene remain black as we hear the distinct sound of the opening guitar riff of one "Born On the Bayou" by CCR.. as we cut to a shaky handheld version of "Bad Eye" McBaine and Leviticus Nelson falling from a bed of a truck and through the windshield of a nearby car.] #Now, when I was just a little boy,# #Standin' to my Daddy's knee,# #My poppa said, "Son, don't let the man get you# #Do what he done to me."# #'Cause he'll get you,# #'Cause he'll get you now, now.# [The camera cuts to the big Royal Rumble.. as various men are brawling in the ring.. then cutting to City Jack lifting up the Television title as the fans are all on their feet.] #And I can remember the fourth of July,# #Runnin' through the backwood, bare.# #And I can still hear my old hound dog barkin',# #Chasin' down a hoodoo there.# #Chasin' down a hoodoo there.# [Clips of Roxie and Angie rolling around on the outside.. and then a clip of Shane Destiny dropping Jaime Roth square on his head unexpectedly! Then another clip of Roth locked in the Destiny Strange as the bell sounds for the draw!] #Born On The Bayou;# #Born On The Bayou;# #Born On The Bayou.# [Quick clip of Dave Bryant superkicking Doyle Woodall.. followed by a clip of "Violator" Bobby Ray Wilkins pulling down the bottom rope as Woodall flips over and to the floor.. followed by a quick clip of Johnny Black's South Texas Deathride on Bryant through a table at ringside!] #Wish I was back on the Bayou.# #Rollin' with some Cajun Queen.# #Wishin' I were a fast freight train,# #Just a chooglin' on down to New Orleans.# [Clips of Kendrick Lane cutting a promo as the fans boo.. then a clip of Reggie Calhoun blasting City Jack in the throat with the clipboard. Jake Cutler and Harisoto Mashima counterwrestling and taking it to the mat.. followed by the end clip of Brawlin'.. where Nelson, Faith, McBaine, Brady and Wilkins brawl in a blood soaked ring of barbed wire carnage.. then cutting to the stoic face of "The Outlaw" Bobby Taylor as the crowd is beside itself!] #Born On The Bayou;# #Born On The Bayou;# #Born On The Bayou.# [Flashes of the faces of Jake Cutler.. Harisoto Mashima.. Robert Kellan.. Lucas McCall.. Shane Destiny.. Jaime Roth.. and Reggie Calhoun..] #Born On The Bayou;# #Born On The Bayou;# #Born On The Bayou.# [Flashes of the faces of Russ Brady.. Ryan Faith.. Kendrick Lane.. City Jack.. Dave Bryant.. Bobby Ray Wilkins.. Johnny Black.. Leviticus Nelson.. and Bobby Taylor..] #Born On The Bayou;# #Born On The Bayou;# #Born On The Bayou.# [And then the stills of one man's face.. bloodied to shit.. his eye patch caked with blood.. as we pan out.. we see the man holding the GIW Heavyweight title.. that one man being "Bad Eye" McBaine.. we freeze on this picture as the music starts to die and big bold yellow lettering lines the center of the screen..] GRAND ISLE WRESTLING TV August 23th, 2002 [With that.. the music completely dies as the camera fades in to a jam packed Sand Dollar Marina!! And only one thing can be heard.. chanting throughout the marina.. "G-I-W!! G-I-W!!" "G-I-W!! G-I-W!!" "G-I-W!! G-I-W!!" "G-I-W!! G-I-W!!" "G-I-W!! G-I-W!!" "G-I-W!! G-I-W!!" "G-I-W!! G-I-W!!"] [The crowd continues to chant as the camera swivels around from an upper level fixed position.. looking down at the ring and around the marina.. the fans are packed to the brim tonight.. standing room only behind the back rows.. shit, we may have 200-250 people in the house tonight. The camera tilts up to show the open air dome and the dark night's sky.. as moths swarm in masses around the two main overhead lights fixed above the ring.. the camera then tilting back down.] [It starts to zoom towards the ring.. the apron flaps on the side read "GRAND ISLE WRESTLING" in red lettering on black.. the mat itself your basic light blue.. plain looking right now, but we are sure to see it stained red by the end of the night. And in the ring stand our lovable broadcast team of Jacob Rodgers and Dirk Davidson.] [Rodgers is decked out tonight in a black slacks and a black sports jacket.. white dress shirt underneath.. his black dress shoes presenting a shiny glare off the camera. Dirk Davidson, on the other hand, sports a pair of blue jeans and a brown sports jacket with a black T-shirt underneath, true class at it's finest. Rodgers smiles to the camera.. raising a microphone to his lips.] JR: LADIES AND GENTLEMEN OF THE GRAND ISLE.. WELCOME TO... GRAND ISLE WWWWWWWWWWWRESTLING!!!!!!!!!!! [BIG TIME POP!!!] JR: I'm Jacob Rodgers and alongside me as always is the charismatic color man, Dirk Davidson! [Boo!] DD: Yeah, well, I love you all too.. heehawing Neanderthals. [Boo!] JR: Boy oh boy do we have a show in store for you tonight, fans! _SIX_ big matches.. a host of debuts.. a line-up that looks chock full of potential upsets.. and a _HUGE_ in-ring return for the main event! DD: Yep! That's right fans.. tonight.. Otto "The Butcher" Verhoeven returns to the ring! [Monster Pop!] JR: And man oh man does he have a tough return opponent.. in "Dirty" Doyle Woodall! [Big Pop!] He definitely could have drawn somebody a bit easier.. more down to a return level speed, but that's just not how we do it here in the Grand Isle. DD: Amen to that. JR: Also in action is the monster.. the one man wrecking ball.. Leviticus Nelson [HUGE POP!] as he sets off against one half of our Tag Team champions.. as he faces Harisoto Mashima! [Big Pop!] DD: I wonder where Kellan is gonna be tonight? Think he's got the balls to confront Nelson two shows in a row? I _highly_ doubt it.. but we shall see.. wifebeatin' prick. [Boo!] JR: Dirk! DD: I just tell it like it is. JR: Riiiiiiiight. The Television title is once again on the line as our "esteemed" champion, Rembrandt [BOOOOO!] sets in to defend the gold against the youngster Jamison Parker! [Surprisingly big face pop!] DD: What in the hell do the fans see in this kid? He gets his ass handed to him every week, yet you morons cheer? HEEHAW! JR: Maybe they support a good natured kid.. with a good heart and lots of potential, I sure do. DD: Bah! His heart and potential may get him killed tonight. JR: ..Can't quite disagree with you there. DD: I know. JR: Tommy Ganz [POP!] tries to do the impossible two shows in a row.. as tonight he faces off against the monster.. the angered giant.. the man we know as only.. Pegasus! [Heel Pop!] DD: Poor Ganz.. kid's got some skills.. and some luck.. but that'll run out in short time tonight against the badass surfer giant! JR: Badass surfer giant? DD: Tried something new, let's move on.. please. JR: Granted. And for our first two matches on the night we've got a host of debuts.. starting with the big debut of "Serial Thriller" Billy Rock [Nice Pop!] as he sets off to face resident ego "Dynasty" Dane Levine! [Heel Pop!] DD: Levine is riding a hot streak, Jake, and it's not gonna end against some douche bag badass wanna-be like Billy Rock. I mean.. Billy Rock.. sounds like a gay pornstar. [Boo!] JR: Real nice, Dirk, real nice. DD: Thanks. JR: And to open it all off we have a pair of debuts.. on one side.. we have the "Supreme Being" Jeremy Rhodes [Pop!] as he sets off to face the big man.. "The Extreme War Machine" Corey Irons! [BOO!] DD: Irons is for real, Jake, he's gonna turn this place upside down in time.. and starting tonight his impact will be felt in the ring. JR: That's very realistic.. but he's gotta get past a ruthlessly game Jeremy Rhodes who's got experience and craftiness in the ring. I think Rhodes is a little more than the big fish in the small pond can handle. DD: Cheap Jake. JR: I can dish too, big man. DD: Let's just get on with this, please. JR: Granted.. but before we hit the ring.. we've got some pre-recorded footage to show the fans.. roll it. [Cut to taped footage from earlier tonight. A light-blue 1990 Toyota Corolla, sounding like a John Deere lawnmower, pulls up at the marina. The door opens, and Jamison Parker steps out, dressed in black jeans and a red and black T-shirt with GIW logo. He barely has time to pull his luggage out from the passenger's side when referee Eli Francois comes walking up ...] EF: I can't believe this. I just can't believe- JP: Can't believe what? EF: I told them not to do this, that it was suicide, but they insisted and- JP: Who are they? What is this? [Francois takes a deep breath.] EF: "They" are the promoters. JP: OK. And? [Francois pauses, then shrugs.] EF: You're facing Rembrandt tonight. [Parker literally goes white before the camera. His jaw slacks open and all the color drains out of his face.] JR: Re-Rem-Rembrandt? EF: I'm afraid so. [Parker closes his mouth, but he still looks like he's seen a ghost. He stares out into space for a moment ...] JR: Well ... at least it's not _two_ men. EF: Nope. Worse. JR: Exactly. [Parker and Francois both stare out toward the marina, wondering what the hell to do now. It's a long silence, the kind where doomed men try to find peace within themselves. I'm rambling again.] JP: Eli? EF: Yeah? JP: I know I'm young ... hell, I lied to you about being 22. I'm 21. I dunno why it mattered, but I thought maybe 22 would sound better. Point is, I wanted to wrestle. It's been a dream of mine for years. And what you did for me in New Orleans ... well, I owe you one, and I can't make that up to you yet. [Parker turns away from Francois and looks down toward the marina.] JP: But here I am, at the Sand Dollar Marina, which is basically code for "dump", and most people would take one look at this place and say, "what on Earth am I doing here?" But me? I'm having the time of my life. So the next time you walk out to my car to tell me something, don't act like your news is the end of the world. It's not. [Parker falls silent for a moment, then turns back to face Francois.] JP: Let me ask you this ... What have I got to lose? [The aging referee thinks for a moment ...] EF: Your health? [Parker snickers.] JP: Sure. My health. Now I know I'm young and naive and foolish, but really ... I knew what the toll of getting into this business was going to be. So don't worry about my health. I'll survive. [Parker shrugs his shoulders ...] JP: What else? [Francois again considers the question for a couple of seconds, coming up with a weak ...] EF: Well ... JP: The answer, Eli, is nothing. Absolutely nothing. [Parker looks back toward the marina.] JP: I'm chasing a dream. If it doesn't pan out, I'll take my car, drive back to Maryland and move on, knowing I tried. But before I do that, I'm gonna give it my best shot. And if you think somebody who took his name from a famous _painter_ is gonna make me turn tail and go home ... well, you don't know me very well. [Parker takes a deep breath, turning back toward Eli.] JP: I'm not gonna pretend to be someone I'm not. I'm not the biggest, the baddest, the strongest, the fastest ... only thing I am is the most normal. Hell, you could grab a guy out of the audience and replace me with him back in New Orleans, and no one would ever know the difference. But now, I'm here. Here. Right where I've always wanted to be. And if that means having to step into the ring with Rembrandt ... well, then that's what I'm going to do. [Parker grabs his luggage and walks past Francois toward the "building". Francois just shakes his head. Cut back to live footage.. and Jake and Dirk sitting at ringside.. Dirk with a shit-eating grin upon his face.] DD: I love funerals. JR: Dirk! DD: Can't help it. JR: That's sick.. that kid is trying his best and the suits, whoever they are.. keep putting the kid out for certain death.. it's sick. DD: True, but sometimes sick equals fun! JR: [sighs] Fans.. let's hear what Corey Irons and Jeremy Rhodes had to say tonight about their big debut match just around the corner.. [Fade in. We see "Supreme Being" Jeremy Rhodes sitting before us, dressed for combat. His fists are taped, his goatee is scruffy, his hair is wet, and he's wearing old, ratty denim shorts and black construction boots with black kneepads. Next to one of his boots sits a watch.] SBJR: I couldn't escape it. [A warm smile comes across Rhodes' face.] SBJR: I don't know why -- it's been a part of my life close thirty-two years now. Yet, for some strange reason, I can't get away. I promised myself in 2000, that when I was driven through tables by someone looking for stuffed animals, that would be it. No more for of this bullshit for Jeremy Rhodes. [Rhodes nods his head.] SBJR: But I couldn't get away. I had to come back -- for three months or so, I made a brief comeback. Then my student turned against me -- and I tested Michelle Bailey in Knoxville more than anyone else had tested her before. Probably since, too. Loser-leaves-town -- and I put up my bloody career. Yet I gave up because she showed more heart that night than I thought she would have ever shown in her life. [Another nod of the head.] SBJR: But I just couldn't escape it. It -- it's like a drug. You get so used to sticking the needle into your vein, feeling the rush as you push that syringe in -- it's a rush that I've had so long, I can't remember what it's like without it. I've lived my entire life in this business -- given my heart, my soul, my spirit, my body. And just when I think I've had enough, and try to walk away -- I just can't do it. [Pause.] SBJR: But, quite frankly -- I feel bad about what I did. Not just to the promoters, who probably think I'm a damn fool and lying scum, but to the boys. I feel like I've let them down. I've become a bloody cliche, I have. I quit, come back, quit again, try to run the school -- and realize that I just can't live without it anymore. But then again -- maybe that's why this place is perfect for me. Because, you see -- I'm thirty-one years old, soon to be thirty-two. I've been in the sport my whole life -- been a pro myself for sixteen years. Seen my family grow up with me, and they became wrestlers too. My father, my mother, my grampa -- all of them. From my cousins, to my brothers, to my sister -- we all can't escape it. [Rhodes glances at the camera.] SBJR: But the Grand Isle -- not a lot of commitment. It's just good, hard-hitting wrestling with good, hard-working fans. Kind of like back home, in Manchester, where people would go and work in factories all week, then put down a pound or so and come to watch wrestling, and see two guys beat the daylights out of each other. Plus, it's one location -- not a lot of travel for this broken ddown body to handle. The intimacy that you share with the fans is incredible. But -- [Rhodes' smile turns into a slight frown.] SBJR: -- the problem is people like you, Rembrandt. Beating up on Jamie Roth after he went through hell with one of my students, Shane Destiny. Trying to snap his bones. Trying to make a mockery out of what the people that came before you have done. Then, when poor Jamison Parker, who's barely old enough to shave, comes down to try and protect his fellow wrestler, you go and you spike the kid on his head. I don't like that, Rembrandt -- not a bloody bit. I sat in the locker rooms, and heard about what was going on -- so I grabbed my chair and came down. The rest, as they say, is history. [Another pause.] SBJR: I know about you, Rembrandt. I've seen the trail of bodies you've broken. Hell, you remember me being there and standing over the shattered remains of Billy Higgins -- muttering something about "razor-piggers". Never did understand the boy anyway -- but I digress. I know what kind of a punk you are, Rembrandt -- I call you a punk because you sure as hell aren't a man. You can beat a man fair and square, I'll give you that -- but these relentless assaults don't settle well with me. [Rhodes scratches his calf muscle.] SBJR: So, Rembrandt -- consider it your warning. I've got my eye on you -- and the next kid you try to destroy, I'll be watching. Perhaps I may have to teach you a lesson. Your intimidation carried you this far -- and sooner or later, I'll see how far your skill carries you. But first -- I got Corey Irons .Now, I know I'm going on and on, and I'll wrap it up soon. It's just -- this Corey Irons guy doesn't strike me as the respectable sort either. [Rhodes rubs the back of my head.] SBJR: Before I came down and made an impression on Rembrandt's skull with a chair, Corey Irons was up. He talked about how for five years, he did this and he did that, he suffered for his art and dodged contracts. All because he didn't care about what someone thought about him. Talking about how he's unique from the rest of the pack -- then marks himself out by saying what he's been watching on the telly and how he wants to match up. The best thing though, Corey, my boy? I've seen a million kids like you before, and it seems like I'll see quite a few more. [Pause.] SBJR: The types that think they're unique, because they don't care about what others say, with their claims of avoiding contracts. Seen 'em before, son. They've come in, talked about how they were bigger than the business, badmouthing the veterans -- then someone like me comes up and stretches them. Someone like me proves them wrong, and sends them scampering back to the hole that they came from. [Rhodes' glare becomes more intense.] SBJR: I'm not saying that's going to happen to you, Corey. Hell, you seem like you've got potential. You seem like you got a lot of skill. But when you step into that ring, and look this old dog straight in the eyes -- all the potential in the world isn't going to mean a damn thing. I wish you the best of luck, young one -- you may just need it. [The warm grin returns, as we fade to black.] [The scene opens to a close-up top view of the Pacific Ocean’s dark blue waters. It is a calm evening, with a cool breeze filling the air as the moonlight glimmers through the ocean’s slow-moving waves. The camera pans across the water, and rotates at about a ninety-degree angle before closing in on the docks just above the shoreline. A lone car is parked near the edge of the shore, its front facing the water. An intimidating figure rests on top of the car hood, his back resting against the windshield. He is clad in a pair of blue jeans and black runners. On his upper body, he wears an open leather jacket. Shirtless, the moonlight bouncing off of his exposed skin highlight his well built upper body physique.] [As the camera pans to the side view of the man, we recognize the cold stare on the face of the "Extreme War Machine" Corey Irons. Irons adjusts the neck chain he wears from his days with the Canadian Air Force, and tilts his head backwards, closing his eyes before acknowledging the presence of the camera crew.] Corey Irons: Y’know, it seems that I’ve sat on the shelf a little too long. Last I checked, the trash talkers knew how to shut up before the camera ran outta film. Seems these days I don’t have the lung capacity to keep up with gawking smartasses like the one that answered my call a couple weeks back. [Irons lifts his head from the windshield behind him, before turning to face the camera.] Corey Irons: What’s it been... three years since I last stood in front of a camera? Three years since I made at least a half-ass effort to cut it in promotion with a half decent talent roster? Yeah, it seems things did shake up a little while I was wasting my time in the bush leagues. So I come back, only to figure out that things ain’t quite how I left ‘em. The head honchos got richer. The big guys got heavier. The high flyers got faster. And the trash talkers? Well... they got _louder_. Take that as a hint, Billy Rock. [The "Extreme War Machine" steps off of the hood of his car. Digging his hands into his pockets, he stands to his full height, and slowly strolls down the pathway which leads to the boardwalk.] Corey Irons: Two weeks ago, the fancy suits in the head office figured they could make a lil’ camera time for the one guy who just never cared to make a name for himself. They figured that it wouldn’t be so bad to shed a lil’ spotlight on Corey Irons, the one guy who everyone’s heard of, but never bothered to make famous. So _I_ figure, why not step things up a notch? I throw my open challenge out, thinking it might actually be worthwhile to do a favor for the GIW’s ratings. I figure that, I’ve waited this long, so why not ask for a _fight_, and call out whoever’s willing to pick up the ball? Obviously Billy, you misunderstood that. So rather than setting the house on fire and making a few bodies hit the floor, I wind up with a front row seat listening to what sounded like a high school punk tryin’ to impress a few folks with his wisecracks. Billy, I didn’t ask you to make me sit through your lame analogies and overused figures of speech. So, to put it in Lehman terms, all I asked Billy, was a simple question: A fist in your face, or a boot up your ass... Take yer pick. [He pauses, and tugs on the dog tag around his neck.] Corey Irons: That’s why it’s called an open _challenge_, Billy. I didn’t want your opinions. I didn’t care what you thought. But y’know what though? You did bring somethin’ up that I thought I outta spiel about. You came to me, and said, "Fuck Courtade. Fuck Temple. Fuck the Empire... and Fuck McBaine." Well big man, all’s fine and dandy, but while we’re on topic, I just thought I’d throw in my two cents, and add another piece to that puzzle... Fuck _Billy Rock_. [Irons reaches the boardwalk, then stops. Turning sideways towards the camera, Irons rests his arms on the side railings of the boardwalk, staring out into the great mass of water before him.] Corey Irons: So whenever you wanna finish our little "dance", Billy, save the chatter, and just wait till the song’s over. By then, you won’t be having a blast with "the thrills, the chills, and the spills," like you say you’ll be. Instead, you’ll just be on the receiving end... ...of the _kill_... And like you said, "business is boomin.’" But your sorry ass? Heh heh... It’s gonna be _hurtin’_. But we’ll be waitin’ a while before the suits decide to pit us against one another. Seems they’ll be saving that up till it’s time, and watch us climb the ladder before makin’ something out of my desire to boot your ass to hell... And that’s where you come in, Jeremy Rhodes. [He pauses.] Corey Irons: That’s where you haul your ass in, swinging those chairs, hoping that someone would take notice. You figure that it’d be a good start to send Rembrandt to the showers with a bruised head and a pissed off mindset. You musta thought it’d put your name on the board, and that the guys in the head office would give you a chance to prove yourself. You musta thought they’d throw someone in your way, that way you could make an example outta him. Well Jeremy, here I am. Here I am, your ticket to stardom in Grand Isle Wrestling. Here I am, that little stepping stone you were looking for, to push your way one notch up that ladder. Here I am, the next victim who’s head’s gonna be sore after you crank that chair into his skull... Heh heh. If only that were true. ‘Cause if you swing that chair at _me_, I’ll give you a free, one-way-trip to the hospital, where you’ll be choking on your own vomit. [Irons cranes his neck, and cracks his knuckles before continuing.] Corey Irons: Did you actually believe you were gonna impress a few folks, and put your name on the map just ‘cause a few marks out there chanted your name and liked what you did to Rembrandt? Well, here’s a newsflash for you, Mr. "Supreme NOTHING..." I ain’t impressed... Just pissed off. You got on my bad side when you thought you could cut a few corners, attack a few slightly more established stars, and get your name on the globe that way. Well Mr. "Supreme NOTHING," I don’t cut corners. I don’t take shortcuts. I don’t look for loopholes. I just hand people their asses... Starting with _you_. [He chuckles, and kicks away a crab next to him on the boardwalk.] Corey Irons: Yet they call this your debut. They call this your big chance to shine. They call this your chance to outclass the "Extreme War Machine" before he gets the chance to wreak havoc here in Grand Isle. Well, can’t say I agree with all that, Jeremy. I don’t buy all that BS. Instead, the only thing I’m gonna be calling your opening match, is one thing: Early retirement. And that’s why... ...NOBODY’S PERFECT... ...BUT I’M AS CLOSE AS IT GETS! [Irons breaks his stare on the camera, then heads back towards his car as the scene fades to static.] DD: I dig Irons, rough.. rugged.. no nonsense.. JR: Like a bulldyke? DD: Well.. yeah, sorta. JR: Interesante. DD: Just kick it over to the midget already,. JR: Heh, fans.. let's send it over to Antonio Hervez for the official introductions to our opening contest! [Cut to Hervez.. the standard drunken waver in the ring.. his bottle of Cuervo snug in his left hand.. the mic in his right.. he speaks.. or tries.. or whatever.[ AH: Ladies an' gentlemen.. our next contest ees scheduled for one fall.. and eet has a feefteen meenute time leemit.. introducing first.. [The crowd stirs and waits as the opening chords of "Would" by Alice in Chains are played over the arena speakers. Exotica comes out first to a burst of cheers from the crowd. Wearing nothing more than a small pink bikini, and a pair of open-toed high heels, she runs her hands through her long, wavy blonde hair. At the start of the first verse, "The Extreme War Machine" Corey Irons steps through the curtains, and stands with an emotionless look on his face at the top of the aisleway.] #Know meeeeee broken byyyyy my masterrrrrrr Teach theeeeeee on child of love hereafterrrrrr# [Irons looks to his left, then to his right at the thousands of fans in the audience, who give a mixed reaction. The big screen then shows highlights of Irons’ career. It begins with Irons pinning a bloody, beaten opponent, then of Irons applying the Web of Death on another victim, and of him hitting a former rival with an inverted ddt. It then shows him winning a World Heavyweight title from a previous federation, several years ago. Irons wears a pair of black and silver spandex, a pair of black boots that reach about a foot past his ankles, and black knee and elbow pads. Brushes away a strand of long, wet brown hair.] #Into the flood again Same old trip it was baaaaaaaaaaack then So I made a big mistake Try to see it once my waaaaaaaaay# [With the look of a cold-blooded murderer on his face, Irons makes his way down the aisle and gives cold stares to people in the audience. He makes his way up the ring steps. Irons stops at the top of the ring steps and takes a good look at his surroundings.] #Driftiiiiiing body it's sole desertion Flying not yet quiiiiiite the notion# [The lights remain dimmed in the arena as Irons steps in through the ring ropes. Fireworks then come shooting up from the four turnbuckles as Irons stands in the center of the ring, and raises his arms in the air. Exotica kneels down in front of him, facing the crowd, running her hands up the sides of her legs. "Would" continues to play for several seconds, and as the lights come back on, Irons stretches himself by grabbing the top rope and tugging at it, then goes over to stand on the second turnbuckle, his arms raised in the air.] #Into the flood again Same old trip it was baaaaaaaack then So I made a big mistake Try to see it once my waaaaaaaay# AH: From Vancouver, BC, Canada, accompanied by Exotica, he weighs in at 258 lbs... here is the "Extreme War Machine".. COOOOOOREEEEEEEEEEEEEEYY IIIIIIIIIIIIRROOOOOOOOOONS!!! [Nice heel pop! as Irons awaits his opponent..] AH: And his opponent.. # We put this festival on you bastards # # With a lot of love # # We worked for one year for you pigs # # And you wanna break our walls down? # # You wanna destroy it? # # Well you go to hell! # [As the sounds of "Fuckin' in the Bushes" by Oasis plays over the loudspeakers, "Supreme Being" Jeremy Rhodes walks from behind the curtain, with a slightly arrogant swagger to his walk. He is dressed in a pair of ratty denim shorts, which appear to have been a pair of normal jeans in their past life, along with black kneepads and black construction boots. His fists are also heavily taped. His torso and arms are scarred somewhat, and as he walks past, you can see the huge tattoo across his shoulders, which is his name in katakana writing. He looks at the fans with a smile on his face as he climbs onto the ring apron. He then steps into the ring and allows the referee to check him.] AH: In the ring at this time.. he weighs in tonight at 236 pounds and he hails from Manchester, England.. here is.. "SUPREME BEING" JEREMY RHODES!!!!!! [Nice pop! as the duo in the ring glare each other down!] ---------------------------------------------- Grand Isle Wrestling: Double Debut!!!!!!!!!!! Corey Irons vs. Jeremy Rhodes Written By: Jimmy Tits ---------------------------------------------- DD: Oh, man... can you believe the odds in this next match, Jake? JR: I have no comment, Dirk. DD: Well, check this -- you've got that old coot Rhodes in there against the f[BLEEP]ing Extreme War Machine! Man, this is so in the bag! JR: Ever heard the expression, "don't count your chickens before they hatch," Dirk? DD: Wait, that doesn't really make sense if you think about it... JR: Of course not. [As Rhodes's boots are checked by the referee, Irons charges in and nails the Supreme Being in the face with a forearm, knocking him into the corner. Irons begins wailing away repeatedly with the forearms, as if trying to cave in Rhodes' jaw.] JR: Oh, man, what an assault by Irons, who is just ramming the forearms right into Jeremy's jaw! DD: Rhodes is losing it, Jake. Irons is gonna kill him, without a doubt. JR: Rhodes gets thrown to the other side by Irons... he bounces off... [As Rhodes' momentum ricochets him off of the turnbuckles, he uses it to try a clothesline on Irons, which misses. Irons grabs Rhodes by the hair and the jean shorts, turning him back towards the turnbuckle.] "THWWWWWWWAAAAAAAACCCCCKKKK!" [SHOCKED POP!] DD: Oh, man! Did you see that?! JR: Irons _rammed_ Rhodes' shoulder-first into the ringpost! How brutal is that? DD: Hehe, the night is starting off well for ol' Dirk, Jake. You know it's been well-documented that Rhodes' shoulder is f[BLEEP]ed up beyond repair. JR: That it is, Dirk. Irons seems to know about this and he's taking full advantage. [Rhodes stumbles out of the corner, wincing in agony and grasping his left shoulder with his other hand. Irons quickly grabs him, scoops Rhodes up onto his shoulder, and then drops him shoulder-first onto the knee!] JR: Shoulderbreaker! This just might be over soon! DD: All the better. I'm starting to get sick of Rhodes anyhow. [After Rhodes rolls away, Irons grabs him again and tosses him through the ropes to the outside nearby Exotica. As Irons goes after Rhodes, Exotica cheers him with enthusiastic applause.] DD: Ohhh, man... now _that_ is a piece of ass, Jake. Tell me you're not getting a hard-on just look- oh, nevermind. You're a freakin' Eunich. JR: Shut the hell up, Dirk. Just because I'm more focused on my work than you are doesn't mean I don't like beautiful women... and I happen to find Exotica very attractive. DD: Yeah, right. JR: Anyway, Irons grabs Rhodes... "SMMMMMACCCCCCCKKKK!" JR: And sends him shoulder-first into the ringpost! Did you hear that sickening thud? DD: It was a "smack," genius. JR: Whatever. [Rhodes goes down in a heap, favoring his left shoulder. Irons hovers above Rhodes and pulls him up by the hair... but Rhodes finally responds with a shot to the stomach of Irons!] DD: Aw come on, don't fight back, Rhodes! You're making this match a crapfest now! JR: Rhodes with a gutshot there, followed by a right hand! He's sending the Extreme War Machine reeling, and Exotica doesn't like it one bit! [Having had enough, Irons manages to get away from Rhodes. He storms past Exotica and then around the corner of the ring towards the announcer's table. Irons takes Hervez's chair and peers over his shoulder.] DD: Oh, man! This is like the thousandth time someone stole a chair from him! He's gotta be pissed! JR: He shouldn't even bother getting a chair. DD: Well, he'd end up sitting on my lap, Jake. I really, really don't want that. JR: Sure you don't. DD: Screw you. [Rhodes charges towards Irons, who has his back turned...] "THWWWWWWWWWWAAAAAAAACCCCKKKKKK!" [HARDCORE POP! Rhodes nearly gets decapitated as Irons abruptly turns around and slams the chair across his face!] JR: Oh, man! Rhodes has got to be out after that! He's gotta be! DD: I think he's busted open, Jake! Blood early on the show! This is great! JR: Irons isn't even done yet. He tosses a limp Rhodes back into the ring... [Irons reenters the ring as well, still carrying the chair. He lifts up Rhodes so that he's on his knees. Rhodes sways back and forth, obviously dazed. A laceration has opened up along the wrinkles on his forehead.] JR: Rhodes is indeed busted open, the blood just dripping out. Irons has that damn chair... [Irons rears back.] "THHHHWWWWWWWWWWWAAAAAAAAAACCCCCCKKKKKK!" [SHOCKED POP!] DD: HOME RUN, BABY! JR: Irons just crowned Rhodes with that chair! It's wrapped around his Goddamn neck! That gash on Rhodes' head has opened up wider! [The camera gets a gratuitious shot of Rhodes as the referee manages to yank the chair off his head. The blood is flowing profusely down his face, basically like a mini-waterfall. Rhodes slumps over, spilling blood all over the mat.] DD: That is awesome, Jake. A work of freakin' art. JR: Oh, man, that's nasty. Irons brings Rhodes back to his feet again, sets him up... [After putting Rhodes' head between his legs, Iron lifts Rhodes upside down... and drives Rhodes into the mat with a piledriver! Heel pop!] JR: PILEDRIVER! It's over, it's gotta be! DD: Hehe... Rhodes left a splotch of blood on the canvas. Cool! JR: Irons with the cover... ONE! TWO! THR -- [Shocked pop!] JR: No! Rhodes gets the shoulder up! DD: Pssh, Irons let him. He's only warming up, you know. JR: Sure, whatever. [Irons glares at Francois, who stands by his count. Irons picks up the dazed and VERY bloodied Rhodes and sends him into the turnbuckles again.] JR: Rhodes up against the corner... Irons charges in with an elbow, but Rhodes moves out of the way! DD: Lucky dick. He'll pay for that. JR: Rhodes from behind Irons -- BULLDOG! [Rhodes wipes the blood away from his eyes and brings Irons back to his feet. Rhodes throws him into the ropes... and as Irons comes back towards him, he gets taken down with a Japanese armdrag.] JR: Nice Japanese armdrag by Rhodes... who now locks in a cross armbar! DD: No! Goddamnit! C'mon, Irons... kill him! JR: Rhodes has that hold locked in tight in the center of the ring. Irons has nowhere to go. [Suddenly, as the referee checks on Irons, Exotica subtlely tosses in a pair of brass knucks, which the War Machine catches with his free hand.] JR: What the -- did you see that? DD: What? What happened? JR: Don't play stupid, Dirk. Exotica just threw a pair of brass knuckles to Irons! [Irons begins powering out of the hold, getting onto his knees, and basically reversing the cross armbar into a schoolboy cradle. However, instead of pinning Rhodes, Irons jabs him in the face with the brass knucks! Heel pop!] JR: Good God! That punch with those brass knucks could've broken Rhodes' nose, Dirk! DD: I don't see any brass knuckles, Rodgers! Are you delusional or something? JR: WHAT?! [As Rhodes squirms on the mat, burying his face with his arms, Irons goes to the corner and begins loosening the padding on the top turnbuckle.] JR: What the hell is he doing? DD: Probably checking if the ring is secure. JR: In the middle of the match? DD: Well... yeah. He's kinda paranoid about this stuff, you know. Oops! It just fell off! JR: Yeah, it did, didn't it? [With the padding finally off, Irons grabs Rhodes, drags him towards the same corner, and sets him up with a standing headscissors. Irons hoists him up...] "THHHHHHUUUUUUUUUDDDDDDD!" JR: POWERBOMB! DD: He's setting up for the Irons Multi-Throw! This is lookin' pretty damn good for the odds, Jake. JR: I bet! DD: Okay, how much? JR: Shut up. [After Rhodes' rough landing, Irons wraps his arms around each of Rhodes' legs. He falls backward, slingshotting Rhodes right into the unprotected turnbuckle. Heel pop!] JR: Rhodes just hit chest first on that unprotected steel! DD: Here it comes! [Irons quickly follows up with a waistlock... and German suplexes Rhodes right onto his neck!] JR: German suplex! He completed the Irons Multi-Throw... and he bridges it! ONE! TWO! THR -- [SHOCKED POP!] DD: WHAT?!? JR: Shoulder up! Rhodes got the shoulder up again! Unbe-frickin'-lievable! [Irons curses up a storm and gets right in Francois' face. Rhodes rolls towards the ropes and desperately tries to pull himself up. However, Irons quickly turns around and refocuses on Rhodes, lifting him onto a vertical base.] DD: There's a lot worse in store for Rhodes, I know it. JR: Could be. Irons whips Rhodes to the ropes... Irons goes for the back bodydrop, but Rhodes kicks him flush in the face! DD: Agh! [Irons staggers back. Rhodes comes off the ropes again and knocks down the Extreme War Machine with a flying clothesline! Pop!] JR: Nice clothesline by Rhodes, who gets back to his feet... DD: He can't be seeing very well, though. All that blood's in his eyes. JR: Rhodes is majorly busted open here, Dirk. I'm surprised he's still standing. He grabs Irons and pulls him towards the turnbuckles... [Rhodes sits himself atop the third turnbuckle and locks a double underhook on Irons. Pop!] JR: He might be going for the Rhodes Special '02 here! DD: C'mon, Irons! Don't let this old bastard get one over you! JR: Rhodes with the underhook -- no! Irons frees himself and elbows Rhodes in the gut! DD: And what a gut it is after all those years. Nothing compared to ol' City Jack, though. [After nailing Rhodes in the head with a punch, Irons climbs up and hooks Rhodes...] "THHHHHHHHHHHUUUUUUUUUUUUUDDDDDDDDDDD!!!" DD: HOLY SHIT! JR: EXTREME SMASHER FROM THE TOP ROPE! GOOD LORD! [The crowd goes crazy as Rhodes just lies there motionless and Irons shakes off the cobwebs from the landing. Irons quickly covers Rhodes.] JR: Irons with a lateral press -- ONE! TWO! THREE! [DING!! DING!! DING!!] [RATHER LARGE HEEL POP!!!] AH: The winner of the match.. "THE EXTREME WAR MACHINE" COREY IRONS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! [Another fairly large heel pop as he gets back to his feet.. and doesn't alow Ref Francois to raise his hand.. simply raising his own as he stares out towards the entranceway.. like he expects something..] JR: Corey Irons with quite a successful debut right here.. and Rhodes even gave it his all.. but the power of Irons was just too much tonight. DD: There's a difference.. Irons has the makings of a true thoroughbred.. while Rhodes is simply some stage pony. JR: Neat but rather incorrect analogy there, Dirk. DD: Blow me where the pampers is. JR: What?! DD: Nothing.. saw that in a movie one time.. pretty damn funny. JR: I be- [BIG POP!!!!!] BILLY ROCK!! BILLY ROCK HAS JUST HOPPED THE GUARDRAIL BEHIND COREY IRONS!! HE'S JUST RUN RIGHT PAST US, EWWWWWWWWWW!! DD: What the hell is that smell?! JR: It must be coming from that bucket that Rock is carrying! [Yep, Billy Rock has a bucket of something.. not sure what.. in his hands as he rolls into the ring.. picking up the bucket and just waiting for Irons to turn around as Corey looks slightly taken aback by the now popping crowd!] JR: Give it to him Billy! Show him you mean business! DD: More like he's gonna sign his own friggin' death warrant! JR: Irons turning to face! [And with that.. Rock takes the metal bucket.. AND DUMPS THE CONTENTS AND THE BUCKET ONTO IRONS HEAD!!] [BIG TIME POP!!!!!!] JR: OH MY!!! WHATEVER THE HELL THAT YELLOW STUFF IS IN THAT BUCKET HAS BEEN DOUSED OVER COREY IRONS HEAD!! AND IT'S FIRMLY STUCK ON HIS HEAD!! DD: THIS SUCKS!! JR: And now Rock is peppering Irons with big overhand rights into the bucket!! Hahahaha! This rocks! [Thud!] And a big haymaker floors the Extreme War Machine! Rock is leaving the ring.. he's going back up the aisle laughing as Irons is prying that bucket off his head! DD: Rock is a dead man.. D-E-A-D! JR: Luckily you can spell. [Irons pries it off his head.. a face full of yellow substance and red with rage in the other parts.. he glares down Rock who's smiling.. Irons quickly gives chase as Rock goes through the curtains.. meanwhile.. Irons runs right past.. REMBRANDT!!] [ANOTHER MEGA-HEEL POP!!!] JR: Now what the hell is he doing out here?! DD: I'm sure he's got some pressing issues to discuss with "Bleeding Like a Sive" Jeremy Rhodes. [Speaking of.. Rhodes is back to his feet.. using the ropes for leverage and is indeed.. bleeding like a sive.. full crimson mask.. almost grotesque.] DD: Disgusting. JR: Indeed.. but nevertheless.. the Television champ is making his way to the ring.. Rhodes sees him and is backing up to let him in unscathed.. quite a weird turn of events right here as the champ rolls into the ring.. DD: Rhodes fears him! [Remmy gets back to his feet.. and both men lock into an icy staredown mere feet away from each other.. neither man moving a muscle as the crowd gets into it!] JR: Remmy just trying to make his opponent cower with his mere presence.. but it's not gonna work on Rhodes.. no way no how! DD: Oh, it can.. and it will! [And then Rhodes just rears back.. ..And spits.. ..blood!!!!!!!!!] [MEGA-POP!!!!!!!!] JR: MY GOD!! RHODES JUST SPIT PURE BLOOD RIGHT INTO THE FACE OF REMBRANDT.. ND THE CHAMP HASN'T EVEN MOVED! DD: Jeremy Rhodes is much, much more retarded than I even fathomed! [TTTTTTTTTWWWWWWWWWWWWAAAAAAAAAAAAACCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKK!!!!!!!!!!!!!!] [MEGA-HEEL POP!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!] JR: MY GOD!!! MY GOD!!! DD: ROCK ON!! JR: REMBRANDT JUST NEARLY DECAPITATED JEREMY RHODES WITH A SPINNING ROUNDHOUSE KICK RIGHT TO THE SIDE OF THE FACE!! HOW BRUTAL WAS THAT?! DD: I'M IN HEAVEN! Only if Exotica was here.. JR: Rhodes is laid out.. Remmy is leaving the ring now with a sick look of stoic joy upon his face.. that man is insane.. that man is.. DD: Say it. JR: What? DD: He's unstoppable.. you unleashed the dogs of hell in his in your Rumblings and Grumblings.. the blood is on your hands. JR: Whatever. DD: The blood is flowing like wine tonight, man.. JR: Man oh man.. tell me about it. Irons and Rock.. Rhodes and Rembrandt.. the blood flowing freely early here tonight! DD: Talk about making their presence felt.. whew! Wild! JR: Fans, up ne- [The camera abruptly cuts off Jake.. fading out and then cutting in on the heavily scarred, massive back of the GIW Heavyweight Champion, "Bad Eye" McBaine, gently swaying back and forth. As the camera slowly pulls back, we find McBaine sitting on the floor of darkened room, facing a full length mirror. His one good eye is locked on the vision before him, a body still swollen and stitched together from a battle that took place almost a month ago. His lips mouth something that his voice barely whispers...] McBaine: Think... think... think.... [McBaine's stringy black locks tenderly dance along with the movements of his body.] McBaine: Think... think... [His eye squeezes shut almost as if in intense pain.] McBaine: Think... [Suddenly the cream colored skin of a woman's calf enters the screen.] Woman: Did you say something, baby? [As the camera pulls back slightly, the petite woman kneels down next to McBaine, wearing nothing but a black, vinyl mini skirt and a black lace bra. The skin on her back is painted with an image of a black, burning coffin along with other smaller images covering her shoulders and arms, revealing that she is but one person. The nurse who appeared to 'care' for McBaine after The Nightmare... Sierra Hayes. She tenderly runs her fingers over the stitched wounds covering his back as a look of pure wonder and happiness crosses her face.] Sierra: Are you talking to yourself again, baby? {McBaine only response is a clenched fist within his lap. Sierra doesn't seem to notice though, as her eyes gleefully survey the dank changing space around them.] Sierra: Wow... I can't believe it... I just can't believe it... [Sierra runs her fingers through McBaine's jet black locks, wiping them from the side of his face, revealing his eye patch.] Sierra: A little over two weeks ago you didn't even know my name... and now look at us!! [She abruptly jumps to her feet, brimming with excitement.] Sierra: Tonight we go out there _TOGETHER_ !!! I always dreamed about you and me walking to the ring together... but now we're actually doing it! [She bites at her lower lips, trying to contain the energy within her.] Sierra: Isn't it the most exciting thing ever?!?!?! [McBaine says nothing, eye still glued to the mirror before him.] Sierra: Baby... did you hear me? [Seconds slowly multiply as the McBaine's raspy voice is finally heard.] McBaine: Why... can't... I... think? [The grin on Sierra's face begins to dissolve as she kneels down next to McBaine.] Sierra: It's okay, baby. It's just kinda hazy because you're still recovering from the match. But don't worry about it. You know how much _we_ mean to each other and I'll make sure that soon everything will be bet-- McBaine: ... we? [Sierra pulls McBaine's chin so that they are eye to eye. Her deep blue eyes scour his face with a longful look.] Sierra: Yes, _WE_ ... because we're in love. Remember? [McBaine slowly pulls his face away from her's and stares back into the mirror.] McBaine: ... love? [Sierra tries to pull his face back to her's but this time he fights her. She quickly rises and approaches a table in the corner of the room with a purse on it.] Sierra: Yes, silly goose. Love. We fell in love while I was taking care of you in the hospital. After you got healthy even to leave you asked me to come to the GIW with you so we can make our announcement to the world. McBaine: ...what... announcement? [Sierra grabs her bag off of the table, opens it and removes a small syringe from it.] Sierra: The announcement we talked about. You know... the big one. [McBaine shakes his head, eye sealed to the world.] McBaine: ... why... can't... I ... think... [Sierra leaves the table and joins McBaine on the floor, hiding the needle behind her back.] Sierra: You just are dealing with a lot these days. You know with all your injuries and the fact knowing that so many other wrestlers from the GIW are retiring cause of injuries and such. Guys like Johnny Black, Dave Bryant, City Jack, Russ Brady... [Sierra slowly runs her fingers over McBaine's back... seemingly searching.] Sierra: But you're nothing like them, baby. You are stronger than them. You are braver than them. But most of all you have something that none of those men ever had... [Sierra's finger pauses on a single spot upon McBaine's back as she brings the syringe needle to it.] McBaine: ... what? [Sierra leans in close to McBaine ear, as she presses the needle point into McBaine's back. His body intenses suddenly as she guides his wide eyed, stiffened body to the ground.] Sierra: You have me... blood muffin... [Sierra tenderly runs her hand over McBaine's heavily breathing chest as she stares longingly at him.] Sierra: You sleep well my dear... I'll be back before you know it... [A child-like grin twists from her lips.] Sierra: We have a big night ahead of us... [Cut.] DD: What the?! JR: That woman may be even sicker than McBaine!! And tonight they apparently have an announcement?! DD: Rock on! This is like some fizzucked up soap opera! [...] JR: Ahem! Fans, up ne- [A voice rings over the PA system...] Voice: "CLA...CLA...CLA...CLASSY~!" [A HUGE HEEL POP!!! rips through the Sand Dollar Marina as the crowd spots the man, the myth...the Classiah, "CLASSY~!" Kendrick Lane, strutting out from behind the curtains. As "Lowrider" plays, he boogies his way down to the ring with exaggerated arm movements and a frightening lack of rhythm. He steps in between the ropes, giving a big flex of his right bicep and giving it a kiss, before strutting his way to the middle of the ring.] KL: Awwwww....yeah! It's that time, ladies and gents! Time for the classiest five minutes you'll experience... [He turns around, ready to unleash some funk on y'all. Kendrick starts off with an Elvis Presley-esque kung-fu kick!] KL: ALL... [He drops to one knee and does an arm spinning motion, before pointing to...no one in particular.] KL: ...WEEK... [Kendrick proceeds to pop back to his feet and do some arm Go-Go dance arm swinging action. Suddenly, he pauses in mid- swing and with the drama building, puts an end to this dance number.] KL: ...LONG!!! [He throws two quick punches to punctuate that entire sequence. The crowd meanwhile, doesn't know whether to laugh or cry. Well, someone yells, "What the hell was that!?" at least. Kendrick of course, ignores this all.] KL: As you know my faithful Lane-iacs, your Classiah's been going through some turbulent times, recently. I've had some deep personal conflicts and it's shown in the ring...and well, I think I owe you all an explanation. Basically, it comes down to this... [Silence.] [...] [...] [...] KL: It's Tommy Ganz's fault. [Protest pop!] KL: Yuppers. It's that no good little snot that's to blame for all my troubles! How else would that ringrat claiming to be my sister have found me? How else do you explain the fact that I've wrestled with a different partner every week in a seemingly endless cycle of nonsensical tag team matches? Huh? Huh??? [Kendrick strokes his goatee, deep in thought.] KL: Hmmm...might it be a coincidence? [He smiles and shakes his head.] KL: Nopers! Nuh uh! It *has* it be, it *must* be, it can *only* be...a conspiracy. [Hey, that rhymed! Kendrick pauses for a second, almost as if to acknowledge his mighty lyrical skills and he continues on.] KL: Trying to keep me out of the singles wrestling scene, eh? Trying to shove me out and keep me from tearing you limb from limb you worthless coward? [Lane chuckles, digging into his jacket pocket, producing a small sheet of paper.] KL: Well, it's all for naught, Ganz. I'm not going to let you play God with my career anymore! 'Cause that, my friends...just isn't classy. It's not classy at _ALL._ [He holds out what's in his hands for all to see and smirks.] KL: In my hands Tommy...is a check. [Pause.] KL: For ten thousand dollars. ["He's got money!" pop! The crowd seems pretty impressed.] JR: T-...Ten thousand? Where'd he get the money??? DD: It sure as hell ain't from the paychecks around here. [The crowd continues to buzz.] KL: Hey...'yer stinkin' holes! [Heel pop!] KL: *Ahem* 'Scuse me. Anyway, I'm willing to put up this money every week until I'm defeated. Against any challenger. All challengers. Whether it be man, woman, beast, transvestite, transsexual, hermaphrodite, or Lydia Kellan! [Heel pop!...although the mention of Lydia doesn't really make sense. ;) ] KL: Thing is, Tommy...the big question really, is do *you* have the nerve to take me up on this challenge? [Kendrick pauses.] KL: Are you man or mouse? [Another pause.] KL: Will you be the coward that you always prove yourself to be or will you accept your fate as a piece of trash stomped beneath my shoe, do the right thing, and be... [Kendrick grins, pausing to point to himself, and unleashes the line as the crowd can anticipate what's going down...] KL: ...CLASSY~! [HEEL POP! He raises an eyebrow, before dropping the microphone and moonwalking his way out of the ring. Fade out.] JR: That man.. DD: Is classy! And rich! JR: I was going more for clinically insane, but whatever. DD: Bah! Lane is God. JR: Fans.. up next we have another highly anticipated debut.. DD: Screw the debut.. Levine is about to showcase his greatness! JR: Fun.. fans.. let's hear what Billy Rock.. the Serial Thriller.. had to say about tonight's big debut match. [Earlier today.] [Our camera rolls, bringing us to an uninviting corroded locker room door. That's when a human limb emerges from behind, sprawling five fingers across the chipping white paint to see what's behind. Inside we find an uneasy peacefulness, which would be pleasant, if that's what we were seeking. Deeper into the murky, fish scented room we delve, until a presence is felt. He twists the shrieking valve, slowing the faucet to a drip as his reflection is cast into the slivers of what's left of a mirror. His broad, burly shoulders heave as he sucks in some of that fine, Sand Dollar Marina Co2. Or what strikes him as "Exotica Crotch".] [A gray t-shirt drapes one shoulder. Other than that, only a pair of navy blue cargo pants and black Adidas flip flops conceal his body. His hair is thick, greasy, wavy ... unruly. Turning his head in the least reveals a large pork chop sideburn. He's new, so I'll spell it out for you. The presence is that of "Serial Thriller" Billy Rock.] [Unbeknownst, or unwavered, by our arrival, he sniffs his underarm, only to compare it to the scent of the stick of Right Guard deodorant in his hand. He eyes the stick, then passes swift and harsh judgment.] Billy Rock: You lose. [Ozark Beast's don't smell daisy fresh. Away with you, scented gel! As the deodorant ricochets off the wall, Billy cranks his head over a shoulder and peers into the eye of GIW.] Billy Rock: You're late. My time aint money? [Snorrrrrt ... Huuuuuck ... Spit!] Billy Rock: Listen. I sped home after the brawl last week. Snared some of the first decent winks I've had in a year, but come sunrise I started thinkin' about watcha said, Irons. About the eyes glazin' yuh over as yuh crossed this room. And I began to wonder. Did yuh _feel 'em_? Was it the chill slitherin' down your spine ... maybe the goose pimples sproutin' up your forearms that ... that made yuh feel _exposed_? Made yuh map out your next step, just to be careful of who yuh bumped into? Or did yuh lift your head and put it all in perspective? I'm no rocket scientist, and hell, I aint no bus boy at Joe's Crab Shack either, but I don't have to put people in orbit to certify the former theory. 'Cause one thing I noticed? Precious, I stood nose to nose with yuh. Not once ... not for a Goddamn second of your life did yuh place your eyes in mine. There was somethin' in 'em you were hidin' from me, Corey. Fear? Regret? Undying affection? Only you can be sure, but I'll find it. I'll strip away every layer of trifling veneer you stow it behind. I'll find my way inside and yank it right out, whether I have to tunnel straight into your psyche or simply cram my foot straight up your prissy little ass. And after that? After I've rolled yuh off the operatin' table and left yuh with the arduous task of piecin' yourself back together ... well, I reckon your little "fan club" will _really_ have somethin' to gawk at. [He straggles through the room, familiarizing himself with the vicinity.] Billy Rock: Who might've reckoned, Irons, that after five years of leanin' a cold shoulder on the pillars of this market, yuh'd ultimately come for your share of the wheelin' and dealin'? But there's a more pressing question on the tip of my tongue. _Who cares_? You're standing there, telling us that it's _finally_ appropriate to shower yuh with praise? Look where yuh are! Take a big _whiff_! Don't confuse what I'm tellin' yuh. Some of the stiffest competition across the board is right here in the marina. But ... you came to set the world on fire from channel sixty-eight? You can't follow Good Times, Corey! [Billy angles his arms 90 degrees toward the roof and opens his palms toward the floor.] Billy Rock: DY-NO-MIYEETE! [He sniffs. His face sours. That odor's taken all the fun out of it.] Billy Rock: Ok. Let's get somethin' straight. Where I come from? Catering. Water coolers in the dressing rooms. Physical therapists. A sauna, for Christ's sake. We had pyrotechnics. Smoke. Mirrors. Even one of them big screens hoverin' over the entrance. A whole world away from the ground beneath my feet. So as I get too the root of your presence, I speculate much deeper into why _I'm_ here. I've read no contracts since they pulled us apart. I haven't even kept in touch with the brass around here. Yet, here I am, hours from my front door, and miles from fresh air. Just for you, Irons? Just to stand between those four posts tonight with Dane Levine? Nah. I can't live with that. Oh, sure, I'm still gonna wad yuh up and take yuh 'round my cornhole, Irons. You will most definitely eat shit and like it. But there's a bigger picture, and it's all about gettin' to know people. I don't mean makin' friends. I'm talkin' about breakin' the ice. And in just a few short hours ... I get to rub elbows with Levine. "Dynasty" Dane Levine. Lucky ... _lucky_ me. [Roll them eyes.] Billy Rock: Your very first mano-y-mano encounter in the marina. My treat. How's that grab yuh, Dane? Knowin' the distance it's taken yuh over a month to come, I've left behind with one stride. Wild. Tonight is a turning point. For Billy Rock. For Corey Irons. For the Isle. For "Left Eye" Lopez safe and sound in his cozy hospital mattress, deflecting the cooties of Nurse Betty and her bodacious, dastardly ta-ta's. For City Jack, who's arm says "no", but heart says "yes". For this roster, head to toe, wall to wall. The blood will run far, and the blood will run thick. And the only hope you, Levine, Irons, and the rest of you have of not washing ashore when the crimson tides subside, is to, quite simply ... ... _run_. [Get out.] JR: Talk about intense. DD: Intense as an outbreak of genital warts. JR ... DD: Not that I would know! JR: Fans, let's kick it over to Hervez for the official introductions.. AH: Ladies an' gentlemen.. our next contest ees scheduled for one fall.. and eet has a feefteen meenute time leemit.. introducing first.. [All of a sudden, P.O.D.'s "Boom" begins to blast over the PA system and the crowd instantaneously begins to show their disrespect for the person that steps out from the entrance. And that person is "Dynasty" Dane Levine.] [Dane Levine walks down the aisle with Cassandra Davis hanging on his arm and a smug look on his face as usual. Levine has short black hair that's spiked up just slightly, though not so much as to be considered a crew cut and a very solid, chiseled build that he shows off by only coming to the ring with a pair of red tights with the word "Dynasty" written on his ass in black and a pair of black boots with red shin guards and knee pads. Over his bright green eyes are a pair of small rectangular sunglasses that rest on the bridge of his nose. Cassandra wears a tight black leather top that has a single strap over the right shoulder and wraps underneath her left arm, along with a black leather skirt that reaches her mid-thigh and hugs her hips ... all together making the male audience either drool or hollar out cat calls.] [As they walk to the ring, someone holds up a "Dane Levine SUCKS!" sign right in front of him and at first, he simply pushes it aside and walks passed it, but then a spark hits him as though he just now saw what the sign said. Pulling a U-Turn, he snatches the sign out of the person's hands and shouts out a couple obscenities toward the fan and then continues with what he was doing like nothing happened. He walks up the steps and then sits on the middle rope, allowing Cassandra to enter first. As she bends over to enter the ring, the crowd goes nuts as they're about to get a chance to see up her skirt, which causes her to stop immediately, looking toward Levine. She points out toward the crowd in frustration and Levine nods his head, stepping down on the middle rope and using his shoulder to open it even wider, allowing Cassandra to enter without bending over too much, which makes the crowd begin boo'ing all over again, some people even throw wads of paper at Levine.] [Cassandra walks to a corner and gives the crowd a disgusted look, while Levine walks over to an attendant at ringside, who hands him a microphone. The crowd boos him relentlessly, knowing this isn't going to be a pleasant interview. Dane paces back and forth for a moment, gathering his thoughts before raising the microphone up to speak.] DDL: "God damn, can't you people show a little respect!?" [With that, the crowd simply boos even louder, which visibly frustrates Levine.] DDL: "You all just sit there and look at me like I'm some kind of prick, but when in reality, you all are just so in awe of my presence that you can't stand it!" [More boos from the crowd.] DDL: "It's things like this ..." [Levine unfolds the sign that he stole from the fan at ringside and holds it up for all to see.] DDL: "... that proves _exactly_ what I'm saying! You ..." [Levine points to the man he stole the sign from, who looks around to make sure he's talking to him.] DDL: "Yes, you. How much did this run ya? A good two bucks? That's what I thought ... you see that? This man spends half his paycheck, just to write how much he despises me on posterboard. That tells me either he's really jealous or really stupid." [Levine tears the sign in half and tosses it out of the ring.] DDL: "Look at that ... now you don't even get to keep the sign _and_ you're broke." [Most of the crowd boos, but apparently, a few people found humor in his actions. Levine certainly did, as he has a big smile on his face.] DDL: "But enough about you, let's focus on me for a minute. Two weeks ago, a momentous, _epic,_ _MILESTONE_ event took place in this ring! That's right ... two weeks ago, "Dynasty" Dane Levine got his first pinfall victory here in the GIW. And now ... after weeks and weeks of decidedly terrible booking ... I finally get what I've been asking for all along. A singles match ... something where I can show off my true talents as a wrestler and prove to everyone that I truly am a one man Dynasty!" [Boos from the crowd to show their disapproval of Dane Levine getting anything he want, no matter what it is. Levine waves a hand as if to tell them all to shut up before he continues.] DDL: "Before I get to that, though ... I have someone I need to address." [Levine pauses as he looks into the camera.] DDL: "Pegasus. You have a lotta nerve, big man. Dane Levine gets his first pinfall victory ... and you decide to spoil the celebration. A lot of people wonder why you would attack me ... but I understand. As a businessman, I understand that you're trying to show your stuff and what better person to take it out on than "Dynasty" Dane Levine? Well, though I respect your actions, let me just say this ... I'll return the favor. Someday." [Levine looks away from the camera as though his 'serious moment' has passed and that trademark grin of his sneaks its way back into his expression.] DDL: "Now, back to what's really important ... tonight's match. My first singles match here in the GIW. However, before you get all excited ... there is an unfortunate side to all of this. You see, the match isn't going to be very long and it won't be very exciting, because the opponent isn't up to my caliber." [The crowd shows their disapproval for his arrogance and he just laughs.] DDL: "Oh, but don't get me wrong, the match is going to be phenomenal and everyone will get to see Dane Levine put on a clinic for a rookie. Billy Rock ... I feel for you. Really, I do. Your debut match and you have to step into the ring against the premier superstar of the Grand Isle ... it's not something most men would be willing to do. So, for that, you've got guts." [Levine offers a quick smirk to the camera.] DDL: "You better hope that you got a _whoooole_ lotta talent, though, kid ... because when I get through with you, you're gonna be wantin' to hit the gym, because _I_ am the pinnacle of the GIW! _I_ am who these worthless fans come to see! And _I_ am the man who will show you that even though you might like to think of yourself as a [mocking tone] "Serious Thriller" ... after tonight, you're going to find out that you're really just Serious _Filler!_" [Levine tosses the mic out of the ring and he holds the ropes open for Cassandra again as she exits the squared circle.] AH: Wow.. and his opponent.. # ... WHATEVER IT TAAAAAKESSSSS!!!!! ... # [GET!!!] [THE!!!] [F*CK!!!] [UP!!!] [While POD's "Whatever It Takes" roars ... AH: About to enter the ring ... hailing from Little Rock, Arkansas ... standing 6 feet 4 inches and weighing 268 pounds ... ... a silhouette validating the description formulates in the mouth of the aisle. The figure remains idle with his right shoulder pointing toward the ring ...] AH: Here is ... ... "SERIAL THRILLER" BILLY ROCK!!! [His head droops in a swathe of darkness with his chin tucked into his chest, as the shade tints his brawny, carved physique. The tendrils of hair slithering down his face, to his upper lip, sway back and forth as they're caught in his piping hot, cavernous breaths. Then, in unision with the first spool of lyrics, the "Serial Thriller" Billy Rock snaps his head backward, whipping the damp chords of light caramel hair from his face. His mane is thick and wavy, riddled with slight curls, ranging in length from his earlobes to the lower back of his neck. He ominously twists his neck, rotating his face toward the aisle, and lashing out with a vulgar crook in his upper lip. Two large pork chop sideburns outgrow the rest of the five o' clock shadow on his face ...] [Billy calmly swings one foot out in front and visually inhales his surroundings, then walks the aisle. His chest swells chillingly as the camera spirals around him. The hands are taped heavily from his knuckles to about three inches above his wrists. The light ricochets off the gleaming material of his steel gray, thigh length tights. The back of these tights carry the emblem of a confederate flag with it's edges tattered and torn, and Billy's own twist. An orange canvas behind a pair of blue crossbones. The white stars rallying across each bone lead to a white skull in the center wearing a sinfully immoral grin. There'll be an exact replica on the front sans the orange backdrop. Billy wears steel gray knee-pads, and just below these, a pair of white and black cowboy boots ...] [He takes the steps to the apron, turns his back to the crowd, and clinches the top rope. His broad shoulders rise and fall as though a surge was just channeled from the ropes through his body, and then Billy climbs into the ring, taking a corner, awaiting the bell ...] --------------------------------------------- Grand Isle Wrestling: Singles Debut!!!!!!!!! Dane Levine vs. Billy Rock Written By: Chris Buse --------------------------------------------- [DING!! DING!! DING!!] [Levine and Rock size each other up, Rock attempting to fire a large right hand at the jaw of Levine. Levine ducks under, and quickly hits the ropes, fires off, and nails a flying forearm shot. Rock and Levine each get to their feet, Levine taking Rock to the ropes. Rock fires off, and ducks under an attempted clothesline by Levine, stops on a dime, and fires one of his own, sending Levine crashing to the floor.] JR: Quick start to this one, folks! DD: Another gripping comment by our fearless lead commentator... JR: Shut up, jack ass. DD: Ohhhhhh someone's a little surly! [Rock gets Levine to his feet, and fires a few right hands to the face of Levine, rocking him towards the corner. Rock buries a series of knees to his stomach, as Levine doubles over. Rock hoists Levine up...] JR: Dear God! He's he gonna powerbomb him over the god damn ropes?!? [But Levine fires a right hand, as Rock spins back towards the ring, Levine using his own momentum, flipping Rock over onto his back with a hurricanrana, bridging his knees on Rock's shoulders...] JR: What a reversal! Levine with the reversal of a powerbomb...into a 'rana! DD: That was damn impressive... JR: Francois with the count... ONE! TWO! [Rock kicks out, as Levine struggles to his feet, heading towards the ring ropes, as Rock gets to one knee. Levine strides through the middle rope, and stands on the apron. Levine grabs the top rope, and uses the momentum over the rope...flying over the top rope, and stretches out, attempting to nail Rock with a slingshot leg drop. Rock rolls out of the way, as Levine nails the mat hard.] DD: See there?! Mister fancy flippy punk didn't hit that one, did he?!? JR: You're beyond hope... DD: I just might be...but at least I'm straight. JR: God damn't...it was _one_ night...and I was really drunk... DD: ... JR: Uhm...s[BLEEP!] I never told you that, did I... DD: ... JR: GOD DAMN'T! DD: ... [Rock gets Levine to his feet, and fires him off the ropes. Rock catches Levine off the ropes and spikes him to the mat with a high impact spinebuster. Rock hooks the leg...] ONE! TWO! [But Levine fires out, as Rock gets back to his feet, leaning down to get Levine. Levine struggles to his feet, shaking off the effects of the spinebuster, as Rock fires him into the ropes once more. Rock nails a boot to his stomach, as he hooks him with a gutwrench waistlock...but Levine mule kicks Rock in the face...] JR: WHOA! Mule kick into the face of Rock! Levine rocked...Rock! DD: You've planned that for an hour...you frickin' goof. JR: Levine off the ropes...sunset flip...into a cover! ONE! TWO! [Rock rolls underneath, and covers Levine, stretching his legs foward.] JR: Reversal by Rock! Another cover... ONE! TWO! [Levine flips a shoulder up, as Rock gets to his feet, grabbing Levine's hair. Levine wraps his leg around Rock's leg, and arm bars the back of his neck...] JR: SMALL PACKAGE! ONE! TWO! THREE... DD: God damn't! Slow down people! JR: What action! A series of near falls by Rock and Levine...neither man giving an inch... DD: They're making quite the debut here in the Gee Eye Dub. JR: The hottest god damn company in this business, fine sir. DD: God damn right, what other company has legends, up and comers, rising stars, has-beens like Bryant, and a drunken Mexican midget ring announcer? I dare you to find another company...I DARE YOU! JR: Folks excuse Dirk...he's off his medication... DD: AM NOT!!!!!!! JR: Dear God man... DD: Sorry... [Rock and Levine get to their feet, and eye each other. Levine bounces off the ropes, but Rock catches Levine, and gutwrenches him over his shoulder, and lifts himself and Levine into the air...] "THUD!!!!!!" JR: SIT OUT TOMBSTONE!!!!! ROCK NAILED IT!!!! COVER! ONE! TWO! THREE... DD: Whoa! DAMN! JR: Levine with such heart! DD: That little crap is really fighting like a man...I'll be damned. JR: Rock can't believe it...he's shaking his head. He gets Levine to his feet, but Levine fires a right hand! He's not quitting folks! DD: This little punk doesn't frickin' quit! It's almost admirable...but probably annoying! JR: Levine's rocking Rock back... DD: Please stop. JR: WHAT?! DD: Just stop, you nit. [Levine grabs Rock, and fires him off the ropes, and as Rock comes off, Levine nails a dropkick, sending Rock to the floor.] JR: Textbook dropkick! [Levine gets back to his feet, as Rock slowly gets to his as well. Levine strides through the middle rope, and to the apron, and as he does, he grabs the top rope, and slingshots himself over the top rope, and nails a elbow to the back of Rock's head.] JR: Slingshot elbow drop! DD: Daaaaaaammmmnnnnnn... JR: Levine covers Rock! ONE! TWO! THREE.... JR: ANOTHER KICK OUT! EXTRAORDINARY! DD: What the hell? JR: I'm gonna ignore your attempts! DD: Ok sparky... [Levine slaps the mat, and gets to his feet. He heads to the ropes, and climbs to the top turnbuckle...but as he does so, Rock gets to his feet, and as he does, he runs towards the ropes, and knocks Levine onto the turnbuckle, crotching himself. Rock heads over to Levine, and hooks his neck and chin over his shoulder, pulling Levine out of the turnbuckle, as he stretches Levine...] JR: Beautiful neckbreaker! DD: That was god damn awesome! JR: Rock covers Levine..this has to be it...his neck snapped! ONE! TWO! THREE... JR: WHAT?!? DD: He kicked out, stooge! JR: AMAZING! [Rock spikes his fist into the mat, as he questions the ref, Levine rolling around the ring mat, rolls to the apron, slowly getting to his feet. Rock struggles to gain the attention of the ref, diverting his attention away from Levine, who slowly gets to the corner, and climbs the turnbuckles, clutching the back of his neck. Levine awaits Rock...] JR: Rock doesn't see Levine... DD: He better turn the hell around! [And as he does...he walks right into Levine, who grabs his head, and whirls off the ropes...] "THHHHHHUUUUUUUUUUUUUDDDDDDDDDDD!" JR: TOP ROPE, JUMPING TORNADO DDT!!!!! DD: GOD DAMN! JR: ROCK'S OUT! HE'S OUT! DD: This could be it! JR: COVER... ONE! TWO! THREE... [But Rock lifts a shoulder...] JR: GOOD GOD! What a show of heart! WOW! DD: Rock just scaved off a sure loss here... JR: Levine's not done! One of the best high fliers in the business...another one of the Gee Eye Dub's amazing cruiserweight division! [Levine gets to the ropes yet again...] JR: He's going up top again... [And as Levine leaps off...] JR: ROCK'S ROLLING OUT OF THE WAY... [Levine leaps off...and misses...] JR: RISING STAR SPLASH!!!!! HE MISSED IT!!!! ROCK'S BACK UP TO HIS FEET... [Rock hooks Levine up, on his shoulder, as Levine clearly shows the effects of the missed finisher...Rock drops him...] DD: REVERSE DVD! JR: HE CALLS THAT THE OZARK DEATHRIDE! THIS ONE'S OVER! ONE! TWO! THREE!!!!!!!!!!!!! [DING!! DING!! DING!!] AH: The winner of the match.. "SERIAL THRILLER" BILLY ROCK!!!!!!!!!!!!! [NICE BIG POP!!!] JR: Billy Rock successful in his big debut tonight as well a- IRONS! DD: WOOOOOOOOOOO!! [Corey flies down toward the ring.. chair in hand.. Rock just getting back to his feet and still unaware of Irons who slides into the ring!] DD: Turn around and taste some steel, Rock! JR: He turns.. he doesn't see Irons! [CCCCCCCCCCCRRRRRRRRRRAAAAAAAAAAAAACCCCCCCCCCCCCCKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKK!!!!!!!!!!!] [HEEL POP!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!] JR: And Irons just crowned Rock right on top of the head with that steel chair! DD: And with good reason! He's still got the yellow crud on his face and shoulders.. can't be smelling too appropriate right now! JR: But Rock is getting right back up! [BIG POP!! for Rock's resiliency.. but then.. CCCCCCCCCCCCCCCRRRRRRRRRRRRRRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAACCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKK!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!] JR: OH MY!! ANOTHER HOME RUN SHOT TO THE FACE PUTS ROCK FLAT ON THE MAT!! DD: WOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!! JR: And now Irons drops the chair on the mat.. but it damn sure doesn't look like he's finished. DD: Not by a longshot! [Irons decides to pick the hurtin' Billy Rock back to his feet as blood starts to trickle off Rock's brow..] JR: Corey looking around the audience and receives a smattering of boos as he tucks Billy Rock into a standing headscissors! DD: Rock on! Destroy this punk ass trick gangsta wanna-be! JR: Wha? DD: Sorry, a tad over-zealous. JR: Irons lifts now.. [And he hoists Rock onto his shoulder in powerbombing position.. but then he starts to spin!.. .. and spin.. ..and release!.. ..TTTTTTTTTTTTHHHHHHHHHHHHHHUUUUUUUUUUUUUUDDDDDDDDDDDDD!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!] [MEGA-HARDCORE POP!!!!!!!!!!!] JR: SPINNING POWERBOMB ONTO THE CHAIR!! SPINNING POWERBOMB ONTO THE CHAIR!! MY GOD!! IRONS JUST DECIMATED ROCK!! DD: WHAT A ROCKIN' TURN OF EVENTS!!! JR: And now Irons is leaving the ring with his masterpiece completed.. what a menace.. what a loose cannon.. DD: What an acquisition. JR: This sucks! DD: Whoo! What a night so far! JR: Rivalries anew.. Billy Rock successful as was Corey Irons in their respective debuts.. and up next.. DD: The Deathdealer is gonna get dealt! JR: It's a classic David versus Goliath as Tommy Ganz sets off to face the giant in Pegasus.. DD: Impossible odds. JR: Says you. Fans.. I'm getting word we gotta go to the back.. so let's see what's going on. [Cut to the backstage area. We find one of the newest GIW additions, Sierra Hayes wandering around, wearing a mile wide grin, vinyl mini skirt and a white blouse on top of her black lace bra. Her eyes sparkle with simple amazement at the Sand Dollar Marina. After turning a hallway corner, she stumbles upon a rather young boy hanging outside of the woman's bathroom. He smiles at Sierra as she bends down to his level.] Sierra: Well hello there, little guy! Boy: Hello. Sierra: And what is your name? Boy: My name is Bobby. [Sierra pushes her hair away from her face, still grinning from ear to ear.] Sierra: Well hello there Mr. Bobby. My name is Sierra. [She notices that Bobby's eyes are no where near her face, but down her blouse at the tattoos upon her chest .] Bobby: You sure do got a buncha tattoos on you. Did they hurt? My mommy says they hurt a lot! Sierra: They didn't hurt too much. They just felt like a little scratch here and there. Bobby: Why'd you get all them? [Sierra slightly blushes as she opens her blouse wider for him to gaze at a picture of a broken tire iron.] Sierra: I got them for my boyfriend. To show him how much I love him. Bobby: You must love him a lot! Sierra: Yeah I do.. I love my "Bad Eye" McBaine! [A wave of fear suddenly crosses Bobby's face.] Bobby: I KNOW YOU!!! YOU'RE THAT CRAZY NURSE LADY!!! MOOOOOMMMMMMYYYYYY!!! [The young boy quickly scurries away down the hall calling from his mother as Sierra's pleasure filled face turns deadly serious.] Sierra: F[Beep]-ing little brat... run to your little mommy before I cut your tongue out and wear it around my ne-- Voice: Excuse me, is there a problem here? [Sierra quickly jumps up, startled by the voice behind her. Once she turns around she find herself in front of two security guards, both with tags reading "Billy" and "Roger" clipped to their shirts. Sierra forces a nervous smile as she tries to straighten an imaginary wrinkle in her skirt.] Sierra: Ah... um... Rog: I said, is there a problem here? Sierra: No problems here. [Billy chuckles under his breath as Rog takes a step closer to her.] Rog: Then why was there a little kid runnin' outta here, callin' for his momma? [Sierra nervously tries to giggle along with the guard who then quickly stops.] Billy: You find something funny about threatening little kids? Sierra: N-no... I-I-I didn't mean t-to-- Rog: Look here lady, groupies aren't allowed in the backstage areas. Only wrestlers, managers and family members of wrestlers. So you gotta get outta here. Sierra: B-But I _AM_ a manager! And I'm the fiance of a wrestler here! Well he hasn't asked me yet, but I know he will be soo-- Rog: And who exactly is this guy? [Sierra all of a sudden swells with confidence as a smug look grows within her face.] Sierra:"Bad Eye" McBaine. [Both guards look at each other for a single moment...] Guards: HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!! [Sierra's lower lip begins to tremble as she looks at both guards in disbelief.] Sierra: But I am... Rog: Yeah right! Billy: And I'm City Jack personal dietician!! Guards: HAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!! [A single tear begins to trickle down the side of her cheek.] Sierra: But--but--bu-- [Rog violently grabs her by the arm and pulls her down the hallway as she struggles to break free of his grasp.] Rog: Out you go, little girl. Sierra: LET ME GO!!! LET ME GOOOOOOOOOOO! [Cut.] JR: Things are just getting crazier by the moment tonight.. DD: Did you hear what she said?! She said she is McBaine's.. fiancee?! JR: Maybe that's the big announcement! We'll have to wait and see.. if Sierra is even still in the biulding. DD: Doubtful. She does have a nice rack though. JR: Way to jump around.. fans.. I hear we have Jamison Parker in the back.. let's see what the youngster from Maryland is up to. [Cut backstage, where Jamison Parker, in his rather ordinary black wrestling gear, stands at the one pay phone in the place. He holds the receiver up to his ear as we interrupt on the conversation ...] JP: ... You worry too much, Mom. Everything here is fine. I'm fine. I ... I understand that, and I wish I had been there to help, but ... Yes! ... Mom, look. I made my decision, I'm acting on it, and I'm happy about it. I'm doing what I want to do. ... Well, I'm sorry you feel that way. ... No, what I wish is that you could understand _me_, for once. ... Yeah. ... Uh-huh. ... Well, I'll come home sometime soon and visit everyone. ... I told you, you worry too much. I'll be fine. I'm all grown up now. ... Yeah, Mom, you too. ... I love you too, Mom ... bye. [Parker hangs up the phone, and starts to turn around and walk away - only to be stopped in his tracks by the sound of slow, sarcastic clapping. The camera pulls out as Parker's jaw drops, as standing there before him, in full ring gear, is the Killer from Kyoto and GIW Television Champion, Rembrandt.] R: Well, well, well... Look what we have here... [Rembrandt cocks his head to the side, giving Parker the once-over. ] R: Parker... I trust you saw what I did to Jeremy Rhodes earlier, no? [Parker nods quickly, and Rembrandt smirks.] R: Ahh... Good, good. [Rembrandt smiles.] R: See, Parker... Jeremy, dear Jeremy, he made a big mistake in crossing my path. He made a crucial, horrible mistake by drawing my ire, and right now? Right now, as he's regaining consciousness, he's realizing that he has, for all intents and purposes, thrown his career away. At this very moment, his head is throbbing, he's being stitched up, and he's asking himself what he was thinking when he decided to single me out. And really, can you blame him? I _dismantled_ City Jack, and I made Jamie Roth look like a complete joke, and both of those men are infinitely more talented than Rhodes, no? [Parker remains frozen.] R: Yes, of course they are, boy. So you see, if Jeremy Rhodes, this supposed Supreme Being is felled so easily... and if the unstoppable City Jack is stopped _dead_ in his tracks in a match I could have won in my sleep... then why, boy, why are you still in this arena? Why haven't you turned tail and run? I'll tell you why. You believe the conspiracy. [Rembrandt takes a step closer.] R: You believe all of the nonsense you hear - you believe that I didn't earn my reputation and that it was handed to me on a silver platter. You believe that the title "Killer" was assigned to me by Clint Fletcher at random, because I was marketable, and you believe that this might just be your lucky night - I'm not _that_ talented, my kicks aren't _that_ brutal, I'm not that _intimidating_ ... so you might be able to do the unthinkable, and walk out of here with the biggest upset in GIW history under your belt. Well, boy, I've got some bad news for you: you're living in a dream world. The same dream world as City Jack, the same dream world as Jamie Roth, the same dream world as Jeremy Rhodes. You're not going to win tonight- you're not even going to come close. What is going to happen, though, unless you do the sensible thing and run for your life, is the conclusion to our little dance the last time we met. Do you remember that, boy? When you decided to play big-tough-wrestler and save Jamie Roth? By crossing the line? Don't think I haven't forgotten, boy... Because while dear Jeremy lays unconscious in the trainers office? In a short while, you're going in for a CAT Scan. See you later, kid. [Rembrandt smirks, and walks out of the shot, and a terrified Jamison Parker finally exhales. Cut back to ringside.] DD: HAHAHAHAHAHA!! JR: That's not funny, Dirk! Rembrandt is a goddamn psycho.. and what does he expect Parker to do? Run away? Run out on the company? DD: I sure as hell would. JR: But you got a vertical slit between your legs! DD: Oh, you cun- JR: Hey! DD: Blow me. JR: Fans, we are just moments away from Ganz-Pegasus.. so let's hear some pre-recorded comments from Tommy Ganz about tonight's big contest.. interviewed by yours truly! DD: Oh, fantastic.. no.. really. [Cut backstage, to the mighty GIW backdrop. Standing in front of it, adjusting his collar, is Jacob Rodgers. He sees someone off-camera, and waves them over. Into the scene walks "Deathdealer" Tommy Ganz, wearing a black "Too Much Death For New Orleans" t-shirt over the top of his usual wrestling garb. Jacob excitedly begins the interview.] JR: Tommy Ganz! Later tonight, you step in the ring with Pegasus. Now, we both know that Pegasus is 6'10", close to three hundred and fifty pounds... TG: No crap. I'm well aware. [Tommy looks worried. Jacob just keeps blathering on, however.] JR: Last week you beat Bobby Ray Wilkins, another big man. Do you plan on using the same attack strategy? And if not, how are you going to contend with a man a full foot taller than you and over a hundred pounds heavier? TG: I guess the answer Pegasus and everyone at home has is "not show up". And really, I considered that. JR: You actually considered no-showing? [Scratching the back of his head, Tommy looks _very_ concerned.] TG: Well... yeah. I mean, if it weren't for the run-in last week, Bobby Ray Wilkins was on his way to making me hurt in ways I've never hurt before. And unlike Wilkins, Pegasus isn't some brawler, trying to grab me and throw me around. He can work the mat just as well as me, and he's going to be looking for any patterns and techniques I use to throw him off. So one strategy isn't going to work. Why show up when you have someone like that, pissed off on top of that, ready to tear your head off your shoulders across the ring? JR: What made you show up here tonight, then? TG: Personal pride? Standing behind the company that pays you? Giving the fans what _they_ paid for? I dunno, really. Maybe I'm just too hard-headed for my own good. But if the officials in the GIW think I'm going to step in the ring time in and time out, get battered, and then get nothing but a bigger, more painful beating the next week? They're thinking wrong. JR: Is that a threat towards the people behind the GIW? TG: Not a threat. More of a warning. I'm a nice guy. Easy enough to get along with, always do my job, and I do it well. But the one thing I'm not is a push over. I don't get paid much to work here. I'm probably never going to get the title shots or recognition everyone else is getting. And I'm most certainly always going to be the underdog. But I'm not watching my career end in this organization because some dimwits up top like to see me get the crap kicked out of me. I'm not sitting back and letting everyone walk all over me on their way to superstardom, while I'm left crawling in the back, barely able to move the morning after a big match. I _will_ walk before that happens. [The fear and uncertainty is gone from Tommy's eyes, a fire now lit up in them that exudes confidence. _This_ is what you think of when you think "Deathdealer".] JR: Those are strong words... TG: They're more than words, Jacob. They're the truth. And tonight, I'm going out there to get beaten half to death. I'm going to do my best to take Pegasus down a notch, to make him realize I'm not just some stepping stone to the men he really wants to pursue. Maybe I'll surprise him, the fans, and myself. And maybe, just maybe, I'll walk away with the win. But one thing I'm doing tonight is proving myself to everyone watching, from the fans to the boys in the back to the men running this place. I'm proving that I'm not someone to trifle with. And I truly am... a "Deathdealer". JR: Thank you, Tommy, for taking the time to talk to me. TG: No... thank you, Jacob, for giving me the opportunity to set the record straight. [A nod, and Tommy walks off, more intense than when he started. Back to ringside.] DD: Is that why you think he's got a shot tonight? Because he seems angry? Are you retarded? JR: All views expressed by Dirk Davidson do not reflect the views of the Grand Isle Wrestling.. DD: Pssh. Ass. JR: Let's take it over to Hervez for the official introductions for tonight.. [Cut to Hervez.] AH: Ladies an' gentlemen.. our next contest ees scheduled for one fall.. with a feefteen meenute time leemit.. [Angus Young brings the opening strains of AC/DC's "You Shook Me All Night Long (live)" to life.] AH: Introducing first/His opponent! Hailing from Memphis, Tennessee and weighing in at 348 pounds! Here is... PEGASUS! [Pegasus emerges from the entrance portal. His hair tied back into a loose ponytail. His ring attire consists of bi- colored, long tights. The outer and lower portion of his legs are a dark pink. The inner thigh and upper portion of the trunks are a gold color. Across his rear is a dark pink winged-horse. He's also sporting dark pink boots with the back portion of the boot being gold and the colors divided by a black line. Black brace-like elbowpads with the elbow portion being a dark pink. He strides to the ring with confidence and a smirk crosses his face. He climbs the steps to the ring apron and then steps in over the top rope. He looks out to the crowd and strikes a biscep flex.] AH: And his opponent.. [Keyboards. For those Faith No More fans in the audience, the song is immediately recognizable; "As The Worm Turns". For those who are not, the song has become attributed to the man whom uses it as his entrance theme. That man? The man who has stepped out from backstage, and stands stoically several feet from said entrance; "Deathdealer" Tommy Ganz.] #One day you're thinking that maybe you're feeling better #And you're probably an OK person, if only you had a job [Tommy, wearing a red singlet with a black anhk emblazoned across the chest, along with matching elbow pads, knee pads, and wrestling boots, makes his way to the ring, looking serious to a fault.] #Through the hollow tombs can see them #Through their mouths I can hear them praying for pain #But it's only a game [Rolling into the ring, Tommy uses the ropes to pull himself to his feet, then shuffles over to his corner, adjusting his elbow and knee pads.] AH: On his way to the ring.. he weighs in tonight at 234 pounds and he hails from Boston, Massachusetts.. here is.. "DEATHDEALER" TOMMY GANZ!!!!!!!!!! [BIG POP!!] #Listen, man, I know #That things are really rough #And everybody gets you #And life is really tough [One hand is raised, letting the fans know he's ready, which draws a pretty decent pop.] #But I know that deep down inside #There's a feeling that rides #All the way to the end [The music fades, and Tommy knows it's go time.] --------------------------------------------- Grand Isle Wrestling: Singles Contest!!!!!!! Pegasus vs. Tommy Ganz Written By: Terry Jue --------------------------------------------- [DING!! DING!! DING!!] [Pegasus and Ganz lock-up in the center of the ring, with Pegasus easily shoving Ganz back down onto the mat. Tommy looks up and shakes it off, springing back to his feet and charging once again, this time, colliding with the big man from Memphis and once again falling to the mat. This time, Pegasus taunts Ganz, flexing his biceps at his smaller opponent. Heel pop!] JR: Look at the arrogance of this man! DD: What arrogance? He's managed to take firm control of this match without doing a single maneuver! That's what I tend to call complete and total dominance. Don't fault Pegasus for being such a stud. JR: ...Right. Ganz getting back to his feet...-OH! Pegasus scoops him up with one arm! DD: This ain't no contest, JR. Look at the power...look at that strength! You think any fancy-schmancy "technical" wrestling garbage is going to stop this man? [Holding Ganz up with one arm for a good five seconds or so, Pegasus spins around for the crowd to see his display of strength, before slamming Ganz back down to the canvas!] JR: And Ganz hits hard! Pegasus scooping him back up...lifting him up for a suplex... DD: Look at how he's keeping him up in the air, JR...it's effortless! JR: He's just letting all the blood flow to Ganz's head and... *THUUDDD!* Crowd: OH! JR: HUGE vertical suplex by Pegasus! But he's not going for the cover! DD: When you're as fine-tuned an athlete as Pegasus...when you're completely destroying some nutjob whose M.O. is attacking a classy guy like Kendrick Lane for no reason...why worry? JR: When you're in the ring with a master technician like Tommy Ganz, you have to be weary of a sudden submission or pin...much like during our last show. DD: FLUKE! JR: Whatever, Dirk. [Pegasus picks Ganz back up and hooks a waistlock, before lifting Ganz into the air and driving him down with a belly- to-belly suplex! Heel pop!] JR: Belly-to-belly by Pegasus and the pin... [Face pop!] JR: Only two! DD: That's alright. The more this punk struggles, the more he'll have to suffer through before Pegasus decides to finish him off. JR: It won't be as easy as you think, Dirk. Pegasus pulling Ganz to his feet and slings him into the ropes... [As Ganz rebounds off the ropes, he ducks under a lunging clothesline by Pegasus. Pop!] JR: ...he ducks that wild clothesline attempt...And nails the big man with a kick to the back of the leg! And another! DD: Come on now, kicks to the leg aren't going to win a match! JR: The kicks can go a long way to helping Ganz obtain a victory, Dirk. And Ganz takes the big man down with a single- leg trip! [Ganz holds onto the leg, before dropping down with an elbow to knee! He gets back to his feet and repeats the action, bringing a smattering of cheers from the crowd and a grimace of pain on Pegasus' face!] DD: Kick him off ya', man! He's doing some serious damage here! JR: Tommy Ganz working over Pegasus, trying to keep him off-balance by working over that left knee! DD: It'll take a hell lot more than some goofy kicks to the leg to put Pegasus down for the three count, I'll tell ya' that much, JR. [Ganz gets back to his feet, only to be kicked away by Pegasus' free leg, sending him stumbling back into the ropes! Ganz charges at the big man, but receives a big boot the face for his efforts! Heel pop!] *SMMMAACK!* JR: OH! Big boot catches Ganz right in the jaw! DD: What'd I tell you? All of this mat-work crap is useless! [Pegasus pulls Ganz up and lifts him onto the top turnbuckle. He stuns the youngster with an uppercut, before climbing onto the second turnbuckle and hooking Tommy around the waist. He lifts, literally TOSSING Ganz over his head and halfway across the ring...] ______THHHHHHHHUUUUUUUUUUUUUDDDDDDDD!!!!!_______ [BIG HEEL POP!!!] DD: Sweet jiminy Christmas!!! JR: A MASSIVE BELLY-TO-BELLY SUPERPLEX BY PEGASUS!!! Ganz nearly got thrown out of the ring!! DD: Count it! ONE!!! TWO!!! TH-KICKOUT!!! [BIG FACE POP!] JR: No! Ganz kicks out in the nick of time! DD: How the hell did he manage that? He almost got flung into the fifth row! JR: Pegasus looking annoyed. He picks up Ganz, blistering him with some brutal shots to the head and body! *SMACK!* Crowd: Oh! JR: And he floors Ganz with a huge right hand! DD: Pegasus pulling Ganz to his feet and whips him into the corner...charging in with a clothesline...[Pop!] No! Ganz gets the foot up! Pegasus charges in again...[Pop!] Nobody home! *THUUUD!* [Face pop!] DD: Argh! More of this submission crap! JR: And Ganz catches Pegasus into a Fujiwara armbar! He's pulling back on that arm! DD: Come on, no pain! No pain! This move only works on fat men from Kentucky and pretty-boys from Syracuse! [Grimacing in pain, Pegasus struggles, only to have Ganz transition the move right into a crossface! The crowd suddenly explodes into a louder chorus of cheers!] JR: And right into a crossface submission! DD: Oh, that's just great! JR: Wait...oh God. [However, the crowd can hardly believe it, as they see Pegasus get to one knee...then one foot...and back to a VERTICAL base while still trapped in the hold! Heel pop!] DD: Awwww yeah! That's 'mah dawg, yo! JR: .... DD: What? JR: Pegasus with unbelievable power, getting to his feet with that crossface firmly locked in! [...] _________THHHHHHHHUUUUUUUUUUUUUDDDDDDDD!!!!!__________ [HUGE SHOCKED POP!!!] JR: DEATH VALLEY DRIVER!!! Pegasus breaks the hold with a Death Valley Driver!!! DD: Oh freakin' my. JR: Both men are down! But what an amazing counter by Pegasus! He dropped Ganz right on the back of his neck with that one! DD: Little runt shouldn't have been on the man's back anyway. He's got no one to blame but himself. JR: Oh, come on now. DD: I'm serious. All this "heart" and "Never-say-die" crap is to blame. If he'd just fold up and die, all would be good. [Pegasus is the first to his feet, catching Ganz with stomps as he tries to regain some feeling in his arm. He bends down to pick Ganz up, but suddenly gets snatched down with an inside cradle!] JR: No, Ganz with the sudden pin! DD: Oh crap! [Heel pop!] JR: No! Only a two! He couldn't keep Pegasus down! [Heel pop!] And Pegasus immediately stops Ganz cold with a back elbow! DD: That'll teach him for trying to succeed. [Heel pop!] JR: Pegasus looking for chokeslam here... [Pegasus yanks Ganz up and wraps a hand around his throat. He motions for a chokeslam, but at the height of his lift, Ganz twists around and rolls Pegasus into a cross-armbreaker! Pop!] JR: ...reversed into a cross-armbreaker! Ganz escapes again! DD: Get to the ropes! The ropes!!! [Pegasus drags himself over...and gets a foot on the bottom rope! Heel pop!] DD: Phew! JR: Getting nervous, Dirk? DD: Pffft...in your dreams, kid. Just waiting for Pegasus to get tired of playing around with Ganz and deciding to punt his head into the cheap seats! [Ganz releases the hold, but immediately goes back to attacking the arm, driving a knee down onto Pegasus' shoulder! Pop! He tugs at the arm, but Pegasus is too strong, pulling back and causing Ganz to run right into...] JR: THE IRON CLAW!!! Pegasus has got it locked in on Ganz! [HEEL POP!] DD: I can't even see the runt's head anymore! This has gotta' be it! JR: Ganz is flailing around, but Pegasus is just squeezing the life out of him with that massive clawhold! [Face pop!] JR: No! Ganz breaks it with a kick to the knee! The very knee he was working on earlier! DD: Yes, yes...he's brilliant, he's great...why don't you two just declare your man-love for each other now and get it over with already, JR??? JR: Dirk...shut up. [Ganz follows through with another kick to the knee, before running into the ropes. However, as he charges right at Pegasus...] [Whoops!] [Heel pop!] [...] _________THHHHHHHHUUUUUUUUUUUUUDDDDDDDD!!!!!__________ [HUGE HEEL POP!!!] JR: CHHHHHHHHHHHOOOOOOOOOKKKKKKESLLLLLLLLAAAAAAAM!!!! DD: YES!!! YES!!! Pin that mook! ONE!!! TWO!!! THRE-KICKOUT!!! [BIG FACE/SHOCKED POP!] JR: NONONONONO!!!!! GANZ KICKS OUT!!! This young man's heart and determination is incredible! DD: What the hell??? That's impossible!!! [Pegasus is immediately up arguing with Francois. After a few heated words, he gives Francois a shove! Heel pop! However, the old ref retaliates with a shove of his own! Face pop! ...Right into a schoolboy pin! Bigger Pop!] JR: OH MY!!! [...for the three count! HUGE POP!!!] [DING!! DING!! DING!!] AH: The winner of the match.. "DEATHDEALER" TOMMY GANZ!!!!!!!!!!!!! [BIG TIME POP!!!!!!!!] DD: NO!!! HE CAN'T DO THAT!!!! JR: He just did! Tommy Ganz pulls off a huge upset win for the second show in a row! DD: Jake, I gotta say.. JR: That Ganz is pretty sharp? DD: Hell no! That I'm starting to hate that little bitch on City Jackian levels! JR: I bet.. DD: I goddamn hate him. JR: We know.. and up ne-.. no, wait.. let's go to the back right now.. getting word.. DD: What? [The massive form of Robert Kellan is seen as the scene opens, walking down a back hallway. The somewhat young, handsome Kellan is imposing to say the least with an impressive physique. He is dressed in street clothes: faded jeans, a plain grey t-shirt and a "Rockies" baseball cap. He strides down a hallway, one thick work callused hand holding a dirty, large equipment bag slung over one shoulder, his other hand holding that of his wife, Lydia. She follows slightly behind, looking towards the ground as she tries her best to keep up with her husbands gait. She is attired in pants and a long sleeved shirt, dirty blonde hair pulled into a pony tail. Attractive, she turns heads... her own turned upwards as Robert suddenly stops in mid step, in front of them the massive... much more massive Leviticus Nelson. The behemoth of Grand Isle blocks their way, looking with disdain towards Kellan. He moves nary an inch, Kellan pulling his wife behind him and craning his neck upwards.] RK: Nelson... [The monster doesn't flinch, staring straight at Kellan.] RK: Let me guess, you're angry after what happened last show. You're a little bit angry that someone came down, called your bluff and made you fold your hand. [Kellan smirks at his own words, his wife trying to pull him away, a futile effort at best. He ignores her actions as she quits resisting, hiding behind him protectively. Nelson simply stands there, hands in his pockets. Kellan adjusts his hat, his demeanor becoming quite serious.] RK: Listen Nelson. Everyone else around here might be afraid of you. You might have torn through everyone in your path, you might be making a big name for yourself... but none of that matters to me. I have more pressing... [He glances back at his wife quickly.] ...more important things in my life to worry about. I came down and I did what I had to do. I didn't do it out of malice or anger or bravado. I did what was right. What was _right_, Nelson... ... and frankly it's about time someone did something right around here. [He inhales, defiantly staring down the monster.] RK: People are getting hurt, people are hurting each other. We got City Jack with a broken arm, Brady and McBaine torn up... you've been there, you know what I am talking about. Everyone seems to be out for themselves. Well you know what? It isn't just about yourself. It isn't just about _you_. There's the bigger picture to look at but everyone is so near sighted around here they can't see what's really going on. [Kellan still stands up, not backing down at all. Nelson mirrors his actions, his emotions contained, whatever they may be, behind a granite facade.] RK: You're a big son of a bitch but look at me... listen to me. What happened last week wasn't an accident. It can happen again and if things are the same... it will. [Nelson cracks a smirk, and looks down at Kellan.] Nelson: Here's how the game works, little man...you run your mouth in front >of your wife, and you expect me to give you some sort of respect? You expect me to look at you with awe and admiration, because you hit me with a chair and "saved" the day? [Nelson glares at Kellan's wife, and shakes his head.] Nelson: If I were you, I'd suggest you inform your husband of how hard your life...your families life...would be without "daddy"...or without "your loving husband". Because comments like that, from men like that...only allow me to continue my path of destruction without any hesitation, without >any remorse. [Kellan slides foward, after Nelson leans foward towards his wife. Nelson slides his head back, smiling as Kellan glares at Nelson.] Nelson: Look at you...everyone's hero...everyone's knight in shinning armor. Kellan, last week was a miracle...a minor glitch in the sequence that is life. You didn't prove a single thing to me, except that not one single shred of your existence uses that hollow substance in between your >ears. That wasn't noble of you, "sticking up" to the monste. That wasn't heroic... That was just an action of a silly little man, looking for some attention... And you got my attention, child. Every inch you take while you're in the same building as me? I'd suggest you do so with hesitation, fear, and concern...'cause the monster is hungry...and you've created a scent... [Nelson leans foward at Kellan...somewhat eye to eye.] Nelson: And he's ready to hunt... [The two get face to face, and chest to chest, only to have Lydia separate the two, grabbing her husband, pulling them apart. Nelson glares at Kellan as he smirks, Kellan shaking with anger as the two go their separate paths, down the back corridors.] JR: Sometime soon.. the sheeit is really gonna hit the fan with those two.. and I don't wanna be anywhere near em when it does. DD: Screw that, that'll rock. JR: Perhaps, perhaps not.. only time will tell. DD: Stop being a damn cryptic.. you assmonkey. JR: Fans.. I'm getting word from the back that Bobby Ray Wilkins has a few words to say.. so let's hear what the so- called Violator has on his mind.. DD: BRW!!!! [We cut to the back, where Bobby Ray Wilkins is busy sitting on a steel chair, deep in thought. Wilkins is dressed in blue jeans and a black tank top, and takes a swig from a can of Old Milwaukee every so often...] BRW: ...how do Ah kill a man that is already dead? [Oh Lord.] BRW: That summabitchin' voodoo afflicted bastard Doyle Woodall scared the piss outta me staggerin' his rotten ass on down t'ringside durin' my match at the last show. That punk Ganz won the match, but he ain't gonna amount to nothin' round here no way, so Ah ain't too concerned with him. What Ah'm concerned about is takin' a tool of the Devil out fer good. [Wilkins shakes his head.] BRW: Ah dunno what type o' Faust-ian deal Woodall done made in order t'try and get his revenge on tha Legendary Career Violator... but Ah'm gonna figger out a way to hand his dead ass his... ass! [Wilkins nods, and takes a long swig of beer.] BRW: Yeah! Ah am, after all, tha 'riginal bad man around here! Ah put more people out on this roster than most o' these guys have had matches in their whole _careers_! [Wilkins stands up and yanks his chair off the ground, snapping it shut.] BRW: Tonight's tha night I take a stand! Tonight's the night I show Woodall that it ain't right to come back from the dead and try and shut down tha Legendary Carrer Violator! Tonight's the night- [Wilkins' face suddenly contorts into a painful grimace.] BRW: -Ah just smashed my f[BLEEP!]in' fangers in this here damn chair! OWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWW! [Cut back to ringside.] JR: Good.. lord. DD: Don't say that! BRW is going through a lot of mental anguish.. he's fighting the goddamn living dead! JR: Riiiiight. DD: You, you.. non-believer! JR: Realist, mind you. Fans, lets send it over to Hervez for the official introduction to our big Television Title match.. [Cut to Hervez.] AH: Ladies an' gentlemen.. our next contest ees scheduled for one fall.. with a feefteen meenute time leemit.. and it is for the GIW TELEVISION TITLE! [BIG POP!!] Introducing first.. the challenger.. from Smithsburg, Maryland ... weighing in at 205 pounds ... JAMISON PARKER!!!!!!!! [Parker walks out from behind the curtain to quite a decent little face pop! He jaunts down to the ring sporting his black leg-length tights, black elbow and knee pads, white wrestling boots. He walks down to the ring without music, climbs the steps and steps between the ropes.. warming up as he awaits the bell.] AH: And his opponent.. # WHEN YOU'RE RIPE, YOU'LL BLEED OUT OF CONTROL, YOU'LL BLEED OUT OF CONTROL! # ["Elite" by the Deftones kicks in over the PA system, and the crowd immediately reacts - some of them cheering, others booing. The man known simply as Rembrandt steps through the entranceway and walks down to the ring, not bothering to acknowledge the reaction of the crowd, much less their existence. Dressed in a pair of simple loose black cotton pants, black boots, black gloves, and blue and gold shinpads, Rembrandt is focused solely on the ring.. with that Television title swung over his shoulder! Rembrandt quickly approaches the ringside area, ascends the ringsteps, and enters the ring - shouting an instruction or two at the official, hands the belt over, shakes his head, and moves into his corner to complete his prematch warmups.] AH: In the ring at this time.. he weighs in tonight at 240 pounds.. and he hails from Kyoto, Japan.. he is your GIW TELEVISION CHAMPION [BOOOOO!!].. here is.. REMBRANDT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! [MONSTER HEEL POP!! as Remmy just stares down the young Parker at the far end of the ring.] ------------------------------------------------- Grand Isle Wrestling: Television Title Match!!!! Rembrandt [c] vs. Jamison Parker Written By: Mike Gilliland ------------------------------------------------- [DING!! DING!! DING!!] DD: Shouldn't we be making funeral arrangements? JR: That's not very nice, Dirk. DD: I'm not trying to be funny. JR: Parker looking very cautious as he paces the ring.. can't blame him with that TV champ, Rembrandt, glaring down at him across the ring.. both men circling.. DD: Remmy is gonna be quick and deadly.. one wrong move by Parker will cost him the match and perhaps even his health.. JR: And into the first lock-up of the contest we go.. Remmy gaining an advantage as Parker goes down to a knee.. pulling back up.. and into a quick go-behind hammerlock by the youngster.. [Crack!] DD: And broken up by a wicked backelbow that staggers Parker all the way into the ropes.. Parker staggering back off the ropes.. [TTTTTTTHHHHHHHHHHWWWWWWWWWWWAAAAAAAAAACCCCCCCCCCCKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKK!!!!!!!!] [GOOD CHRIST POP!!!!!!!!!!!!] JR: MY LORD!! What a roundhouse kick right to the nose of Jamison Parker.. blood shot out as he very well may have a broken nose.. and he's laid flat out on the mat.. perhaps unconscious! DD: That was _nasty_! JR: Rembrandt not even smiling.. stoic as usual as he's..oh c'mon.. he's peeling Parker off the mat? DD: Maybe the kid just isn't ready to be pinned yet.. JR: My ass. DD: Definitely. JR: Remmy picking the youngster off the mat.. hooking him up.. and he lifts! [TTTTTTTTTTTHHHHHHHHHHHHUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUDDDDDDDDDDDDDD!!!!!!!!!] [HEEL POP!!!!!] JR: And he just dumped Parker right on the back of his head with a vicious Exploder suplex! Remmy with the mercy cover.. this has got to be it just thirty seconds into the contest! One!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Two!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Th-OH C'MON!! [BIG HEEL POP!!! as Remmy pulls Parker's shoulders off the canvas.. stopping the count at 2.] JR: This man is sick.. he's ruthless and sick.. DD: And well worth the price of admission. JR: For the equally sick. DD: Like me! [The fans don't take it as kindly.. as they boo and scream as the TV champ starts to stomp away on the downed Parker.. blood pouring from his nose.. not moving very much at all.] JR: This poor kid.. he's got a mother at home worried sick about what her son is doing.. she'd be in her grave right now if she was watching this. DD: Real PC, Jake. JR: Whatever. Rembrandt picking the green youngster back off the mat.. the champ ducking his head under the arm of Parker.. lifting him and now sitting him atop the turnbuckle.. DD: Can't wait to see what's next in Remmy repertoire! JR: I bet.. DD: Remmy climbing up the turnbuckle as well as Parker is seemingly having trouble staying atop without falling to the floor.. of which would be hilarity in and of itself.. JR: Dirk! DD: It would be, face it. JR: The TV champ ducking his head under the arm of Parker.. he lifts him off the turnbuckle! And has him high in the air for what looks to be a stalling superplex! [And he drops back.. keeping Parker's angle dangerously vertical to the mat.. ..they drop.. ..and drop.. ..and.. CCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAASSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!] ["HO-LY SHIT!! HO-LY SHIT!!"] ["HO-LY SHIT!! HO-LY SHIT!!"] ["HO-LY SHIT!! HO-LY SHIT!!"] ["HO-LY SHIT!! HO-LY SHIT!!"] DD: TOP ROPE BRAINBUSTER BY REMBRANDT!! HE MAY HAVE KILLED JAMISON PARKER!! AND I WAS HERE, LIVE, TO SEE IT!! I RULE!! JR: SICK!!! THAT WAS HORRIBLE!! AND THE EASY.. NONCHALANT COVER BY THE DAMNED TELEVISION CHAMPION!! One!!!!!!!!! Two!!!!!!!!! Th-[MEGA-HEEL POP!!!!!!] DD: HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!! JR: And he did it again?! What the hell is wrong with this guy?! He pulled Parker off the canvas again at two! DD: It's simple, Jake, he wants to teach this young punk a lesson in respect. JR: Respect my ass! He just wants to kill the kid! DD: Fair enough. [Cut to Parker on the mat.. blood streaming from his nose and mouth.. Remmy kicking away at the right arm of Parker as he gets back to his feet.. Remmy wasting no time giving the young man time to breathe..] JR: This is torture to watch.. absolute torture. DD: For you. Bliss for me. JR: Remmy picking Parker back to his feet.. pushing him back against the ropes now.. Irish whip by the champ sends the prey to the farside as Remmy steps out into the middle of the ring.. DD: Death by boot. JR: Parker on the return.. I almost can't watch.. Remmy uncorks the roundhouse kic-, [BIG POP!!] but Parker ducks underneath and runs off the nearside ropes! DD: Doh! JR: Parker leaps! [Some flashbulbs go off as the kid literally leaps high into the air.. springing halfway across the ring towards the surprised Remmy.. MEGA POP!!!] JR: Parker just caught the champ square in the face with a flying clothesline!! What if!! What if Parker can turn the table here!! DD: Bah! JR: The fans are on their feet cheering the kid on as he gets back to his feet.. Remmy right back up and turning to meet Parker who springs out.. [CCCCCCCRRRRRRRRRAAAAAAAAAAAACCCCCCCCCCCCKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKK!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!] [HUGE, HUGE FACE POP!!!!!!!!!!] DD: NOOOOOOOOO!!! JR: SUPERKICK BY PARKER!!! THE HOOK OF THE LEG!! BY GOD COULD IT BE!! ONE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! TWO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! THR-MY GOD WHAT A KICKOUT BY THE CHAMP!!!! [OH SO CLOSE POP!!!] DD: Did you see that?! JR: Rembrandt sent Parker almost flying out of the ring with a bench press-like kickout! DD: Awesome! JR: but that took a lot out of the TV champ nonetheless! Parker right back up and you can see the enrgy flowing in the kid right now.. on an adrenaline high as the fans are behind him two hundred strong! DD: Two hundred? Two hundred my ass! JR: Fine, two fifty. DD: Riiiiiiiight. JR: Parker lifting the kneeling Remmy back to his feet.. prolly not the best idea but he's gotta make due.. the youngster firing in a few somewhat weak but at least slightly effective punches to the face of the champ who reels back into the ropes.. DD: Just prolonging the inevitable! [Parker goes for the Irish whip.. as he sends Remmy off the farside ropes.. Parker walking into the middle of the ring somewhat mirroring what Remmy did just a tad back..] JR: Remmy off the ropes.. he's barreling down on Parker who leaps! HURRICANRA- [But before Jake can finish.. Remmy grabs Parker and whips him down.. _HARD_.] [TTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDD!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!] [MEGA-HEEL POP!!!!!!!!!!!!!!] DD: GOOD GOD ALMIGHTY!! WHAT A POWERBOMB COUNTER BY REMBRANDT!! HE'S A GOD!! JR: Remmy just took that hurricanrana by Parker and told him to take it elsewhere! He just bounced the poor kid's head right off the mat! DD: And looks at Remmy.. no expression, just a glare down at the kid who turns onto his stomach clutching his head.. JR: Parker has to be in terrible pain.. that nose must be broke.. and now he may have gotten a concussion.. good god what a powerbomb by the champ.. [And Remmy smothers as usual.. dropping down on Parker who's face down on the mat.. grabbing and pulling back on that right arm of the youngster!!] [HEEL POP!!!] DD: FUJIWARA ARMBAR!!! FUJIWARA ARMBAR BY REMBRANDT!! HE'S CRANKING BACK ON THAT RIGHT ARM OF THE BITCH ASS YOUNGSTER PARKER!! TAP, BITCH, TAP!! JR: He very well may as he screams out in pain.. Remmy ruthlessly pulling back on that arm as Parker tries to shuffle his weight to the left and towards the ropes.. he's making progress but slowly.. and it may take too long.. DD: Break! Breakdown, Parker! Tap! The pain is way too much for you! JR: Parker almost ready to tap with that left arm in the air.. reaching out for the ropes only inches away.. the fans are on their feet cheering him on.. c'mon Jamison.. you can do it! DD: TAP! JR: And he.. [BIG-TIME POP!!!!!!!!] JR: HE GOT TO THE ROPES!! REMMY RELEASES IMMEDIATELY AND BACK TO HIS FEET! [THWACK!!! HEEL POP!!] JR: And just soccer kicked Parker right in the side of the face for his troubles! What a punk the champ is, what a lowdown piece of crap! DD: Jake! JR: Well, he is! [Remmy wastes no time picking Parker off the mat.. up to his feet..] JR: Remmy holding Parker up as he drives a knee.. now another.. and another.. and one more right into the kid's stomach.. before spinning him around.. Remmy with a reverse waistlock.. now moving up locking into a full nelson.. Good God don't! He lifts! [TTTTTTTTTTTTTHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDD!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!] JR: DRAGON SUPLEX WITH THE BRIDGE BY THE CHAMP!! BEAUTIFUL!! ONE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! TWO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! THR-SHOULDER UP!!!!!!!!!!!! [MASSIVE POP!!] JR: Parker got out of the pin!! And Rembrandt looks pissed as he's quickly back to his feet.. he can't believe the youngster kicked out! DD: Nor can I.. this little manwhore! JR: Running out of insults? DD: Can it dingleberry. JR: Guess not. [Remmy quickly pulls Parker off the canvas again.. blood pouring out the challenger's nose as Remmy hooks him by the tights..] JR: Remmy going for the big suplex here as he lifts Parker off the mat.. high into the air.. [BIG POP!!!] DD: GAH!! JR: Parker slips out the back! Jamison running and grabbing the champ from the back.. AND PUSHES HIM INTO THE ROPES! REMMY AND PARKER POPPING OUT.. ROLLING REVERSE CRADLE BY PARKER!! HOLY CHRIST HE'S GOT REMBRANDT COVERED!! [MONSTER POP!!!!!!] ONE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! TWO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! THR-NO! NO! NO!! [OH SO CLOSE AGAIN SIGH POP!!!] DD: WHEW!! TOO DAMN CLOSE, BUT REMMY ROLLED OUT OF THE PIN AT THE LAST SECOND! JR: At the _very_ last second.. we almost had a new champ from the most unlikely of wrestling upbringings.. DD: Yeah, from a Dan Kauffman wrestling academy graduate! [...] Both: AHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!! JR: That's a good one, Dirk. DD: I know, been holding that for the right time all night. JR: both men right back to their feet.. Remmy livid as he turns to grab Parker.. who jumps! [POP!!] JR: And catches Remmy flush in the jaw with a well-placed dropkick that puts the champ on the mat in the center of the ring! DD: This guy is like herpes.. he just won't go away. JR: Riiiiiight. [The crowd gets back on their feet as the shocked Parker looks at Remmy.. then to the corner.. and then points to the top rope! BIG POP!!] JR: Parker going to risk it all here as he's getting ready to mount the top rope while the champ is eating the canvas! DD: Dumb move, Jake, you know it too. JR: Very, very risky! But he's scaling slowly but surely as the champ is starting to stir as well.. back to a knee and Parker may be in trouble here.. DD: _May_? He is in trouble.. unless he's preparing for the vicious Axe Bomber.. he ain't got sheeit to do. [Parker gets to the top.. looking out at the crowd.. not seeing Rembrandt who leaps back to his feet!] [SHOCKED POP!!] DD: REMMY IS UP AND CHARGING AT THE CORNER! JR: REMMY SCALES UP QUICK.. LEAPING AND GRABBING PARKER BY THAT RIGHT ARM.. HE PULLS THEM DOWN!! [TTTTTTTTTTTTTTHHHHHHHHHHHHHHUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDD!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!] [BIG TIME HEEL POP!!!!!!!!!!] JR: MY GOD!! REMBRANDT JUST PULLED JAMISON PARKER OFF THE TOP ROPE BY THAT RIGHT ARM IN SOME SORT OF MODIFIED ARMBREAKER!! AND NOW.. OH MY GOD!!! DD: CROSS ARMBREAKER!!! [MEGA-HEEL POP!!!] JR: REMBRANDT HAS THAT CROSS ARMBREAKER SNUG TIGHT ON THAT PRONE RIGHT ARM!! PARKER IS SCREAMING!!! DD: AND HE'S TAPPING!! [CROWD GROAN!!] [DING!! DING!! DING!! as Ref Francois calls for the bell as the youngster taps hard with his left arm.. screaming in pain.] AH: Ladies an' gentlemen.. the winner of the match.. and STILL YOUR GIW TELEVISION CHAMPION.. REMBRANDT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! [MAJOR HEEL POP!! for the announcement.. Remmy then getting off of Parker who slumps in exhaustion.. the champ rolling out of the ring and making a b-line for the commentator's table.] JR: What the? DD: I hope he's not gonna kill one of us. JR: No doubt. DD: Here comes the champ! Hey champ! You rule! [Remmy seems not to notice as he grabs the water bottle Jake was using between matches to replenish himself.. the champ rolling back into the ring.. popping up the lid.. and pouring it out onto Parker.. who shakes and moves for once..] JR: He took my damn water! DD: Wanna take the complaint up with him? JR: No, but I love Evian. DD: Fag. JR: Whatever, shortround. DD: Don't use my words! [Through the bickering, the TV champ has awaken Parker.. pulling him back to his feet.. the crowd buzzing over what is going on.. Parker looking out of it as Remmy grabs him by the arm.. AND RAISES IT!!!] [MEGA-POP!!!] DD: WHAT THE HELL?!?! JR: Rembrandt showing Jamison Parker some rare gratitude here.. a sign of respect.. and maybe a turning of a new leaf for our esteemed TV ch- [TTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWAAAAAAAAAAAAAAACCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKK!!!!!!!!!!] [MONSTER, MONSTER HEEL POP!!!!!] DD: SO MUCH FOR THAT!! REMMY JUST HAULED OFF AND WASTED PARKER SQUARE IN THE HEAD WITH THAT SPINNING ROUNDHOUSE KICK!! AHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!! JR: That ruthless, spineless bastard! He'll get his! He will get his! DD: From who? Jeremy Rhodes? A guy who couldn't even beat Corey Irons? RIGHT! JR: And now the champ taking his belt as he leaves the ring.. Parker is out like a light on the mat.. [POP! as Jamie Roth runs past Remmy who looks back with a sick grin for once.. still exiting..] DD: Oh christ.. here comes the Ace to Parker's Gary.. Jamie Roth. JR: Not nice! Roth entering the ring and just shaking his head as he picks the youth off the mat.. [Applause!] JR: The crowd showing Roth some respect as he rolls Parker out of the ring and is now carrying the youngster to the back.. who fought valiantly tonight against one of the most dangerous men in our sport. DD: That was too much fun. JR: You are completely twisted, Dirk. DD: Like a pretzel! [...] DD: Damn, that was bad, my fault. JR: No sheeit. DD: Stopping stealing my lines. JR: Blow me. DD: Damnit! JR: Hah! Fans.. to build on Dirk's dismay.. we are asbout to show you a piece I did over the past few days.. something I like to call In Search of City Jack. DD: NOOOOOOOOOO!! JR: Roll the tape! [Shot comes to the docks of the Sand Dollar Marina, where one Jacob Rodgers is standing by wearing his usual business- like attire.] JR: Hello fans! Jacob Rodgers here reporting on the whereabouts of former GIW Television champion and fan favorite, City Jack. Now while there are rumors of his retirement, as well as being seriously injured, nothing has been proven concrete. The front office has tried to call his home here on the Grand Isle, as well as his home in Liberty, Kentucky, but nothing directly from City Jack. The only information we've been able to gather about it all has been from his family members and from the many apparent sightings all over the Grand Isle this past week. So that's why I'm here, to find out what the people of the Isle have seen and heard. [Shot cuts to somewhere along the dock, in front of a fishing boat, where Rodgers stands by with an old, surely looking man wearing overalls, heavy-duty rubber gloves, and a filthy baseball cap.] JR: Sir, you say you've seen City Jack around here on the docks? Old Man: Yous damn right I have! I saws some big fatty stompin' around these docks here, around my boat over here. Look like a damned sad state, if ya's ask me! JR: Did you talk to him at all? Old Man: Talk? Hell no! I'ves got some jobs to do around here. I ain't gots no time for chitten-chat! The only thing I say to the man was a "How ya doin'?". Big fatty didn't move one muscle - he just kept walkin' by, head down like some sad state. [The old man spits some tobacco out, close to hitting Rodgers' shined up shoes. Rodgers gives a meek smile to the man before it cuts to someone else, in front of one of the Grand Isle's drinking establishments.] Man: City Jack? Yeah, I saw him. He came in the other day... Sunday... Saturday, I can't remember. I asked him what he wanted - I'm the bartender here - and all he said was a beer. Never said another word, the whole night. JR: Anything else he did? Sure he didn't say anything to you or anyone else there? Man: Well... No, can't say he talked anyone that night. He just looked down on his beer the whole night. And... And that was a bit funny too, 'cause Jack usually comes here some nights and guzzles down those beers faster than I can pour 'em. That night, Jack barely even touched that on I poured him. [The bartender nods and then we cut to another person, this time an middle-aged woman outside of the brick-walled rowhome of City Jack's.] Woman: City... Jack? Oh, ya mean that wrestlah fellah? Oh, sure, I saw him around... Mustn't been but two days past, I does think. Yeah, anytime there's on of them nice days here, he be sittin' around outside - right here! [The woman sprays here hand around.] Woman: Usually sippin' some Olde Hickory or some sort of beear. Small talkin' and all, good person. JR: Did you talk him last time you saw him? Woman: Yah, I did. Said to him, "Hows ya doin'?", stuff like that. Boy said he fine, but I didn't think so. Kind of had one of them glassy-eye type o' looks, kind of not really seein' anythin' or nothin'. Now, he's a wrestlah, right? JR: Yes, for Grand Isle Wrestling. Woman: Yah, that's the one he's always gabbin' about everytime I see him. I don't know what happened to the fella, but it mustn't been somethin' real bad to put him like that.Real sad sight, I say, real sad. [The woman nods and smiles as the scene cuts to Sand Dollar Marina, where the GIW ringcrew is setting up for the upcoming show. Rodgers gets the attention of one of the crew members, a big burly type of guy.] Crewman: Yeah, what you want now? JR: I'm just trying to find out some information about City Jack, if anyone's seen him or spoken to him since Nightmare in New Orleans. Crewman: City Jack? Yeah, I seen him. [The crew member puts down some of the ring ropes to turn his attention to the camera.] CM: He usually comes around extra early, like to lend a hand helping. Really surprising since alot of these people here treat us like dirt. Think just cause they get some TV time that they're some sort of god all of sudden. But yeah, City Jack? Yeah, him and me sometimes share a drink or two after shows, hit the town and all. JR: Did you see him after the last show? [The Crewman shakes his head.] CM: No, he didn't come around. Kind of disappointed since the guys were looking forward to a drink or two, but I understood. But, yeah, he did come around just... [The man thinks for a second.] CM: Probably an hour, two hours ago. Like I said, he usually likes to lend a hand before shows setting up, but this time he didn't do that. Just kind of thanked us all for everything. It was thoughtful, I guess, but it seemed like he was saying his goodbyes. JR: Goodbyes? CM: Yeah, sort of looked around a while before finally leaving. Kind of like he was taking his last looks of the place. Why, I don't know - this place is a sty, if you ask me. But the man... Well, guess he just wanted one last eyeful. [The crewman nods until the shot cuts back to Jacob Rodgers standing in front of the same docks of the Marina as when the piece started. Some annoying area kids are seen behind Rodgers making faces and other tomfoolery.] JR: I also spoke with some other people around the area who didn't want to be on camera but knew City Jack and they said that he clearly said to them he was heavily siding on retiring. One person even said that he's already moved out of apartment and that's why no one can reach him at his Grand Isle residency. Could this be the end of City Jack in GIW? Sadly, it seems so. This is Jacob Rodgers reporting. [Rodgers looks on as the camera cuts back to the announcer booth.] DD: Retire!! Greatest news ever!! Thanks Jake! JR: I have faith, I have faith that Jack'll come back to the stomping grounds here in the Grand Isle.. he's too good to just up and leave, Dirk, he's too much of a man for that. DD: You want his man love? JR: WHAT?! DD: Yep, thought so. JR: Fans.. up next we've got another classic David versus Goliath match-up as Harisoto Mashima sets his sights on the biggest, baddest man in our company in one Leviticus Nelson.. so let's hear what they both had to say about tonight's match-up. [Blue steel folding chair. Black dragon tee shirt. White-taped fists. Big gold belt.] HM: Beautiful, isn't it. [The title lays across the thighs of the Mashima-san, glimmering in the low light, freshly-polished. One of Hari's taped fingers strokes the center plate, running over the nameplate. His nameplate.] HM: You know, it's been a long damned time coming. To most people, this is my rookie campaign. But some people might remember my true rookie campaign, when a young, idealistic Harisoto Mashima wrestled in the Carribean. That was three years ago. Three years ago, "Suicide Dragon" was almost a joke. So naive, fresh out of school, the chivalrous hero shining against the darkness, going to war on a battlefield of blue canvas. [Harisoto shakes his head, slumping a bit further in the chair, letting his left arm fall limp and brush the floor. This close, it is possible to inspect his face. The lines and withdrawn, dark patches make him seem older than he is. Not so old, yet, with that fire in his eye, but definately not young anymore. Almost... tired. Already.] HM: Sometimes I wonder if I'd have come this far if I hadn't been tossed head-first into this world, no pun intended. If I'd had any fing clue that this was what I'd grow to become, and this was the life I'd lead, if I'd have continued to wrestle. Hindsight isn't twenty-twenty, though. No regaining innocence lost. Over my "rookie" campaign, you've watched me become something... darker, maybe? That's the price we pay, I guess. Getting spiked with glass and stapled over and over and dropped on concrete is a heavy price to pay. But why pay it? I've come through the sacrifice. Innocence for violence and gold. I sacrificed my naive heroism for the tools needed to fight the type of war the men that surround me now like ot make. My sacrifice allows me to leap from the apron to the concrete and nearly snap a man in two. [The Dragon scrubs his face with his hands, yawning.] HM: Scrayper. [He stands, beginning to pace.] HM: Two weeks in a row you exacted entertainment from my carcass. I warned you the first time, I warned you when you took the staplegun to my forehead, that I always make men pay for the liberties they take with me. My slist is ten miles long, and your name's right at the top in fancy red lettering. It must be an interesting little piece of television history for the folks watching our burgeoning battle at home. A sort of social experiment with ultraviolence. I talked about sacrifice and earning the right to become a hardcore mutha'. Last week, the whole world watched the completion of a metamorphisis, learning first hand just how seriously I take that sacrifice. I bled, I cried, I screamed, and I choked on my own vomit to breed the need to break your neck, Scrayper. When I watched you lay there, not moving, I searched my feelings. No remorse. No more anger. Just... satisfaction. As far as I'm concerned, you and I are even. I think dropping you on your spinal column on a concrete slab from a six foot height is payment for ten staples. So you won't be hearing from me again. Unless... Know this. A debt payed is a debt payed. I owed you one ass kicking. Borrow another from me again, and I won't stop. I won't stop when we're even, I won't stop when I -do- feel remorse, I won't stop when I beat you so badly I begin to bleed over you with the exertion of it. Just like Jake Cutler, if you come for me again after this night, if you come for me again after I've evened our score, you're opening a gate that you aren't prepared to open. There's a difference between picking a fight and starting a war. You have been warned. [Hari picks up the title belt in his fist, raising it, looking at it.] HM: I earned my violence. But I also earned something else. This is the tangible reward for my efforts. This isn't some ethereal principle, some long-winded dialogue from me. This is five pounds of gold-plated nickel on leather that says that I deserve the mantle of one half of the best tag team this federation has. To me, this is all the validation, all the reward my sacrifice needed to give me. The violence... that's bonus. But to hear you talk, Leviticus Nelson... this should be yours. You won't slight my accomplishments. The funny thing about your claim for this? It's faulted. How so? We -beat- you. Make all the excuses you want, Nelson. Cry me a god damn river. You weren't the only one that got the s beaten out of him that night in the cage. Hell, I got jumped by Cutler, the World Champ, and a masked madman jumping off the entire damn thing. And when the night was over, I still managed to raise this up. You don't -deserve- this. So, hearing you talk about how -we- don't deserve what we have? How you should have it? That pretty much invalidates this whole entire "sacrifice" crap I've been going on about. So, here's the deal. I hear you're tough. Big and tough. You went toe-to-toe with the champ and came within a hair's breadth of putting him away. That's good. That's real good. But here's where it's bad, boy. You've went and opened your mouth, talking s when you don't know s. And for that? Tonight? I put you down. I gotta' question your intelligence in the whole thing. I mean, after all, it's pretty fing stupid to go talking about the man that just dropped a monster on his head on concrete twice just last week. I wonder, Nelson... what's going to happen to you tonight? [Fade out.] [The camera opens to a small room, with very dim lighting, which is highlighted with that of a small wick candle, softly blowing side to side. Behind the candle, we see a King James bible, and the large face of the one and only true monster in the world today. His hair is brushed off his face, where his eyes glare directly at the camera, as he slowly cracks an eery smile. Leviticus Nelson thumps the King James bible once, before lifting it with one hand.] Nelson: Ever read the bible, "Mash"? I'll call you Mash if you don't mind, where I'm from, names like yours don't roll off the tongue with ease. See, Mash...the bible is the holy word, the path to the light, for those that seek such light. It's the guidance you need when you seek such guidance, and when all else fails... It's the shoulder you cry upon... See, Mash, the bible tells us all that all men will be forgiven when they seek forgiveness, and pay such retributions for their sins. Have you come to terms with your sins, Mash? The sins of the hard, cold steel cage in which you prayed on the feeble mind of Russ Brady? Have you come to those terms? The terms of that match, the terms of your complete failure to respect those that have allowed you to walk the path of which you walk? [Nelson shakes his head.] Nelson: You will Mash...you will this very week. You will seek that same light, that same light that you sought when you stood over his prone body, and smirked with the confidence of a warrior that had just slain a King. Russ was no King, Mash...he was a failure, a failure of a man that attempted to carry others on his back. The weight was too much...he fell to his knees...and collapsed under the pressure. I go to sleep at night, thinking of that match...thinking of two children, basking in the glory of the failure I was wrong cast together with... For the sins of two men. [Nelson smirks slightly.] Nelson: Sins, Mash..._your_ sins...the sins of a young man, wishing to earn a "reputation" in this business. The sins of a man seeking the limelight, through the success he attained through the failures of one man...on one night...in one match. Tsk, tsk Mash...tsk, tsk...for those that seek fame and forture, seek glory...and when you seek glory...you fall weak, and your mind becomes feeble. And when that occurs Mash? I shall be there...lurking around...and I shall crush your spirit... And when I do Mash...you will gaze up into my eyes, the eyes that are now filled with not one shred of care, not one single ounce of compassion, and you will seek retribution for your actions. Because Mash? Mash, all men eventually fall into the same valleys you will soon fall into. They begin to wake up in the morning with that new found vigor, that new sense of enlightening...confidence that cannot be measured. And then Mash? And then they meet their fears, face to face, eye to eye... [Nelson leans foward to the camera.] Nelson: And when they do, Mash? They crumble under their fears, as the fears dominate every inch of their soul. _I_...am your fear Mash, I am the man that hides until the sun goes down, and waits until you allow yourself to be relaxed. Only this time...this time I won't hide until the shadows turn to night, and until you lay back on your arrogance. This time, I shall slide over the top rope, and I shall look you in the eye and I shall make you testify to the actions of that night...to the actions of the hard steel... To your sins... Because Mash? It's time you seek forgiveness...and I seek retributions. It's time you pay for the gluttony in which you and your little friend have grasped for weeks. Your little friend, Robby...I hope he looks as well. I hope he watches as you enter the same ring, with that same star crossed look on your face...because he, like you will suffer the same fate... Suffer the fate of the sins you have committed... And I shall have my retribution... Under the mask of shattered dreams, and the trail of blood that I shall leave behind... [Nelson blows the candle out, as his voice can still be heard.] Nelson: Oh yes...I shall have my retribution... [Fade to the commentators.] DD: Good lord.. somebody is deathly focused! JR: Mashima better bring his A-game because Nelson looks like a man truly possessed. DD: Can't wait for the second funeral of the night! JR: [sighs] But before we go to the match.. I hear we have Kellan in the back.. so let's cut to him and see what is going on there. [Backstage.] [Lydia Kellan sits on a lockerroom bench, a pleading look in her eyes as her husband, one half of the Grand Isle tag champions in Robert Kellan, paces in front of her. He is (still) in his street attire, a somewhat angry look on his face. Lydia finally speaks up breaking the deafening, thick silence, her voice carrying a fey, musical tone.] LK: You don't need to go out there, Rob. Mash can take care of himself. [Kellan continues to pace, hands crossed in front of his thick chest.] LK: I know your mad because of earlier but he can take care of Nelson, don't worry. Isn't that what this is all about anyhow, fair competition? [He stops in place, eyes, head... not turning at all. He stands there staring at the wall as he replies.] RK: Fair? [He chuckles.] RK: This is Nelson we are talking about, there isn't going to be anything fair about it and you know it. LK: But, but he's not a bad... [He turns his head swiftly, looking at his wife.] RK: Not a bad guy? That's what they say. He's a nice guy, he won't hurt Mashima...right. You heard him last week. This isn't the Nelson everyone knows. Something's up and I am going to do something about it... [She looks at him with a scolding gaze.] ...if something has to be done. I am just looking out for my partner _and_ friend, Lydia. I ain't trying to play superhero, just looking out for Mash. Nelson is a big guy... Mash isn't. [She shakes her head, letting out a slight chuckle herself.] LK: Sure, sure... just don't go sticking your nose where it don't belong. [He winks... that's all. Taking a few steps towards her, he bends over, planting a light kiss on her forehead. She smiles, closing her eyes as he turns and leaves.] LK: Go get 'em Tiger. [Nodding, he turns and leaves the room. The smile quickly disappears, replaced with a look of genuine concern.] LK: Dammit Rob, don't do something stupid...please don't do something stupid. [Fade.] DD: Stupid is as stupid does. JR: We shall see.. Antonio.. take it away. [Cut to Hervez.] AH: Ladies an' gentlemen.. our next contest ees scheduled for one fall.. with a tweenty meenute time leemit.. introducing first.. [The opening baseline for 311's "Sick Tight" begins to flow as The Suicide Dragon makes his appearance, beginning to walk the aisle, black leather mask in hand.] ## Head rush! ## [Clad in cuffed black cordouroy slacks, ratty black Chuck Taylor All-Star sneakers, and a white tank top shirt featuring the image of a green Asian-style dragon biting down on the end of a double-barrled shotgun, Mashima takes in the fans with a smile. Around his waist, glittering under the dirty lights surrounding the ring, is one of the black- backed GIW Tag Team Championship title belts.] AH: Hailing from Nippon, Japan, at a weight of two hundred and thirty pounds... [Hari slips the mask over his face, adjusting its back - two thick, black elastic bands attached to either side of the leather and criss-crossing one another. Cut square in the eyes and the mouth, the mask has been tooled into the image of Mikaboshi, Japanese war god and fire spirit; a harsh, scowling visage not unlike the stereotypical Asian "Oni".] AH: One half of the GIW Tag Team Champions of the World... The Suicide Dragon... [The Dragon passes his title belt off to the official, patting rubbing it affectionately before loosing his hold....] HAAAAARIIIISOOOOTOOOOOO... MAAAASHIIIMAAAAAAAAAAAA!!! [With that, Mash runs his paces, stretching a bit before leaning against the corner tunbuckle padding in wait...] AH: And his opponent.. ["Bad Blood" by Sepultura kicks up, as Leviticus Nelson begins his slow walk to the ring. The crowd pops big as Leviticus nods, closing his eyes, and heads towards the ring. As the song continues, Leviticus lifts a leg over the top rope and enters the ring. Leviticus grabs the top rope, and closes his eyes, beginning a slow prayer, as you can see in detail, the massive amount of tattoo's on his arm. His large hands grip the rope tightly, as he stops the prayer, opens his eyes, and slowly turns around, glaring towards Mashima.] AH: In the ring at this time.. he weighs in tonight at 397 pounds.. and he hails from Lufkin, Texas.. here is.. LEVITICUS NELSON!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! [HUGE MIXED POP! as Nelson just glares down his opponent.. awaiting the bell.] -------------------------------------------- Grand Isle Wrestling: Singles Contest!!!!!! Harisoto Mashima vs. Leviticus Nelson Written By: Terry Jue -------------------------------------------- [DING!! DING!! DING!!] [Mashima begins the match quickly, catching Nelson by surprise with a flurry of chops, punches, and kicks! Nelson blocks the initial blows, but soon stands straight up, absorbing each and every blow, staring down at Mashima with a look of defiance. Big time pop!] JR: Mashima taking it to Nelson early on with chops and kicks, but the big man's shrugging it all off! DD: For God's sake, man...how many midget comedy matches are we having tonight??? *SMMAACCK!* Crowd: OH! [Nelson drops Mashima with a HUGE open handed slap to the chest, causing Mash to writhe in pain. However, as the seven- footer approaches the Suicide Dragon, he taken back by a loud uppercut to the chops. Pop!] JR: There may be a huge size difference here, Dirk...but make no mistake about it, Mashima's going to take the fight right to Leviticus Nelson! DD: I'm so sick and tired of these little guys with their "heart" and "fighting spirit." Pffft...sick to your flip-flop pansyweight matches! [Having reached something of a stalemate, the two eye each other, this time with Nelson taking the initiative. He lumbers towards Mashima, how ducks out of the way of the Texan's grasp and catches him with a kick to the chest, a kick to left knee, a kick to the left arm...and...] Crowd: OH! [...gets slammed back down in a modified spinebuster by Nelson! Brutality pop!] JR: BIG SLAM BY NELSON! Mashima went to the well too often with those kicks and Nelson slammed him hard! DD: Do you honestly think anything less than a lead pipe to the back of the head several dozen times will hurt this man? He's seven-friggin'-feet tall! He's almost four hundred pounds! [Nelson drags Mash up to his feet and props him over his shoulder, before running halfway across the ring and driving Mashima down with a running powerslam!] JR: Big running powerslam and the pin...[Pop!] No! Only two! And now Nelson lifts Mashima up into a military press! DD: Nelson's just going to run over this kid, JR. Mashima might have the tag title, he might got some guts, but there's no way he's taking Nelson down. JR: That's what you said about Pegasus. DD: Hey...shut up! How was I suppose to know Francois had superhuman strength? JR: ..... [Nelson holds up Mashima for an impressive length of time, before dropping him straight back down. However, the masked wrestler lands on his feet and catches Nelson with a superkick as he turns around! Face pop!] JR: Mashima using his agility and catches Nelson by surprise with that superkick! DD: But he's _STILL_ standing! [Mashima follows up with a dropkick, sending Nelson stumbling back into the ropes. Determined to bring Nelson down, the Suicide Dragon dives right at the big man with a flying bodypress, sending both men over the ropes and crashing onto the floor! BIG POP!!!] JR: Both men hit hard on the floor! Mashima's showing he won't stop at anything to defeat Leviticus Nelson, tonight! DD: But look at all the crap he had to do just to accomplish this! Mashima ain't gonna' stop this man! JR: You gotta' have faith, Dirk. DD: We did. He lost to a midget. [Both men remain down on the floor, but Nelson is the first to his feet. He pulls up Mashima and whips him into the ringsteps, but the Japanese superstar leaps onto the top of the steps and moonsault back off...] JR: NELSON CAUGHT HIM!!! DD: Woah. JR: Mashima went for a moonsault counter off the ringsteps, but Nelson _STILL_ catches him in mid-air! [Nelson charges towards the ringpost, intent on driving Mash's head into the steel, but at the last second, the purodore slips out and shoves him into the post instead! Face pop!] *CLANK!* JR: Nelson hits the post hard! DD: Turn around, man! [Face pop!] JR: And a dropkick sends Nelson stumbling back into the ringpost! Mashima's building up momentum here! DD: Yeah, through cheating! JR: Mashima sliding back into the ring now. He's climbing to the top... [...] Crowd: OOOOOOOOOOOOHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!! [HUGE HUGE FACE POP!!!] JR: SOMERSAULT PLANCHA ONTO LEVITICUS NELSON!!! Harisoto Mashima's insane!!! DD: Goddamn...for a dirty Jap bastard that has no chance in hell of winning, I gotta' give him credit. JR: ..... DD: What? JR: Ladies and gentlemen...Dirk Davidson. [Mashima gets to his feet first, pumped up by the cheers of the crowd. He climbs back into the ring, as Nelson pulls himself up onto the apron and steps through the ropes. However, as he's stepping through, Mashima leaps into the air and drives Nelson face-first into the canvas with a modified Rocker dropper! Face pop!] *THUUDDD!* JR: Mashima with the quick pin!!! [Shocked pop!] DD: Holy crap! He barely got a one-count outta' all that! JR: Nelson's resiliency is amazing. But Mashima's back on him, striking with kicks to the left knee...he runs the ropes... [HUGE BRUTALITY POP!] Crowd: OH! JR: Nelson nearly takes Mashima's head off with that lariat! DD: How ya' like them apples, Mashima!? Huh? Huh? TAKE THAT, YA' MOVIE REVIEWIN' FREAK!!!! JR: I thought that was a different guy? DD: God...lets hope so. [Dragging Mashima up to his feet, Nelson grabs him by the head and shoulder, before tossing him across the ring with a HUGE biel toss! Pop!] JR: Nelson's just relentless out there! He's taken everything Mashima's thrown at him and hasn't missed a beat! DD: What I don't get is how you can cheer for this wifebeater-supporting loser. JR: Why do you even have to bring Robert Kellan into this? DD: So you admit it! JR: Kiss my ass, Dirk. [Nelson lifts the stunned Nippon native up onto his shoulder in a bearhug. He backs up, before running full-steam into the corner, slamming Mashima back-first into the turnbuckles, before rebounding out of the corner and spinning a full 180 degrees and SLAMMING Mashima down with a spinebuster! BIG POP!!!] ________THHHHHHHHUUUUUUUUUUUUUDDDDDDDD!!!!!_________ [BIG POP!!!] JR: HUGE SPINEBUSTER!!! That was almost like an Oklahoma stampede-type maneuver! DD: Whatever it was, brotha' got his ass to' up! JR: Don't. Do. That. Again. _EVER._ DD: Hey...just getting back to my ghetto roots. Got a problem with that? [However, Nelson doesn't go for the pin. Instead, he drapes Mashima over the bottom rope and places a boot behind the Japanese wrestler's head, pulling on the top rope and choking him out in the process! Mixed pop! Eli Francois reaches a count of four, before Nelson breaks the hold...only to go back to the boot choke! Another mixed pop!] JR: Leviticus Nelson's bending the rules a bit here...I think he's a bit frustrated. DD: Frustrated with what? He's been kicking this slant's ass all over the place tonight! JR: Can you be anymore offensive, Dirk? DD: I could try. [Nelson clubs Mashima in the back with a huge forearm, before pulling him back to his feet. He hooks Mash up for a back suplex, but at the apex of his lift, the tag team champion flips over and lands on his feet! Big pop! He catches Nelson with two quick strikes to the back of the knees, dropping him down to the canvas. Stuck in a kneeling position, Mashima loads up...] ________SMMMMMMMMMAAAAAAAAACCCCCCCCCCKKKK!!!!________ [Face pop!] JR: A HUGE KICK TO THE BACK OF THE HEAD BY MASHIMA!!! Nelson drops like a ton of bricks! DD: Goddamn! That was stiffer than you whenever City Jack starts his dancing! JR: Indee...-WHA??? DD: Here's the pin! ONE!!! TWO!!! KICKOUT!!! [MIXED POP!] JR: No! Nelson slips the shoulder! DD: It's going to take more than that to finish this monster off, that's for sure. JR: Mashima attacking Nelson as he gets to his feet, stunning the big man with those snap kicks. He grabs Nelson in a headlock and... [Indeed. Mashima grabs Nelson and rushes towards the nearest corner. He uses his legs to lift him into the air, before kicking off and flipping over Leviticus Nelson's head. As he falls... ...he grabs Nelson's head on the way down... ...and...] [HUGE HIGHSPOT POP!!!] [...] __________THHHHHHHHUUUUUUUUUUUUUDDDDDDDD!!!!!___________ [BIG ASS POP!!!] DD: WHAT THE FUCK WAS THAT!?!?! Oh crap...oh lordy... JR: DEAR GOD!!! Mashima just ran up the turnbuckles and somehow twisted himself around in mid-air...and _SNAPPED_ Leviticus Nelson down with a reverse neckbreaker!!! That has to be it!!! ONE!!! TWO!!! THREE!!! [HUGE FACE POP!!!] .... ... .. JR: NO!!! Francois holds up two fingers!!! Mashima can't believe it!!! DD: Believe it, JR!!! No way in hell Nelson's going to let himself get taken down by this punk! [Undaunted, Mashima is immediately up, climbing to the top turnbuckle. He settles himself, waiting for Nelson to rise back to his feet. As Nelson rises and turns around, Mashima leaps off, somersaulting through the air... ...he lands on Nelson's shoulders...] JR: DRAGONRANA.... [HUGE MIXED POP!!!] DD: Bwahahaha!!! JR: ...NO!!! Nelson blocks it! He's lifting Mashima back up... DD: It's over... [BRUTALITY POP!!!] __________THHHHHHHHUUUUUUUUUUUUUDDDDDDDD!!!!!___________ JR: POWERBOMB ONTO THE TOP TURNBUCKLE!!!! Mashima's out cold! DD: Did you see how his neck bent on that? I think Nelson might've paralyzed him. [...] DD: Whoo hoo! [Eli Francois bends down to check on Mashima, but is shoved away by Nelson. However, Nelson's not going for the pin. Instead, he pulls Mashima up and grabs him by the back of the neck. The crowd senses the tides a'turnin' and unleash a hellish HEEL POP!] JR: Damnit! You got the match won! Just pin him! DD: No! Make sure the job's done! [However, just before Nelson can complete the move, a figure comes charging down the aisle...] JR: IT'S ROBERT KELLAN!!! DD: Quick, hide your women and children! [Kellan comes in and nails Nelson from behind, causing him to release his grip on Mashima. He whips Nelson into the ropes and with a full head of steam....] *SMMMMMAAAAAAAAAAAAAACCCCCCCCCCCKKK!!!!!!!!!* [BIG FACE POP!!!!] JR: AXE BOMBER ON NELSON!!!! AXE BOMBER ON NELSON!!!! Robert Kellan with the save!!! DD: Disqualify him, damnit!!! Do your damn job, Francois! [And that he does!] DD: That's not what I meant! ONE!!! TWO!!! THRE-KICKOUT!!! [HUGE HEEL/SHOCKED POP!] JR: HE KICKED OUT!!!! What will it take to stop this man??? DD: A glock and a bullet to the temple? [Clearly stunned, but not completely out of it, Nelson gets back to his feet and stares at Robert Kellan standing outside the ring. He shoots him a menacing glare, before pulling Harisoto Mashima to his feet and grabbing him by the back of the neck. With scary strength, the huge seven-footer lifts Mashima high into the air with one-arm, before ___DRIVING___ him back down with the Descention into Hell! HUGE HEEL POP!!!!] JR: DESCENTION INTO HELL!!! DD: Goddamn. ONE!!! TWO!!! THREE!!! [DING!! DING!! DING!!] [STILL A BIG POP!!!] AH: The winner of the match.. LEVITICUS NELSON!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! [The crowd pops big again as Kellan just looks angry outside the ring.. as well he should be after seeing his buddy and tag partner get somewhat brutalized by Nelson.. who just looks down at Kellan at ringside below.] JR: Nelson escapes with the contest.. and now they are engaged in one hell of a staredown.. Kellan and Nelson.. DD: Escaped? You gotta be kidding me. He nearly killed Daniel-San. JR: Real PC, Dirk. DD: Don't cramp my style. JR: Nelson seemingly trying to eyeball Kellan out of ringside but the big man ain't going anywhere! DD: Too damn stupid. Damn Texans. [So what does Nelson do? Make his way over the top rope and jumps to the floor! Right into the face of Robert Kellan!] JR: The crowd is electric here as both men are now glaring toe to toe.. face to face.. man to man. Not a word seems to be being said here as they just lock on with icy glares.. who will make the first move? Who will break this all dow- DD: THE SCRAYPER!!!!!!! [MONSTER HEEL POP!! as from the other side of the ring.. hopping the guardrail is the Scrayper.. dead skin mask and all.. hopping onto the apron with ease.. a chair in hand!] JR: What the hell is he doing out here?! DD: My guess is to get at Mashima whiled the picking is good. JR: Good lord no! DD: Mashima is starting to stir but he's still on the ground.. he has no idea.. and that, my friend's, symbolizes rulage! JR: You are damn sick, do you know that?! DD: Most definitely! [The camera picks up the staredown still as Kellan's vision of the Scrayper seems to be blocked by the gargantuan in front of him.. as the Scrayper scales the top rope with the chair in hand!] JR: NO! DON'T! NOOOOOOOOO!! [He leaps.. ..FLASHBULBS!!.. ..down.. ..down.. CCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAASSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!] ["G-I-W!! G-I-W!!"] ["G-I-W!! G-I-W!!"] ["G-I-W!! G-I-W!!"] ["G-I-W!! G-I-W!!"] JR: GOOD GOD!!! TOP ROPE ARABIAN FACEBUSTER WITH THAT CHAIR!! HE JUST DECIMATED THE UNAWARE HARISOTO MASHIMA!! THAT MAN IS SICK!! DD: And look at Kellan! He caught a glimpse of what happens! [POP!!] DD: And he just pushed Nelson?! [BIG TIME POP!!!] JR: AND THERE THEY GO!! PUNCH FOR PUNCH!! BOTH MEN BACKING UP THE AISLE WITH FISTS OF FURY!! NEITHER MAN BACKING AN INCH!! DD: THIS RULES!! JR: OVERHAND LEFT BY NELSON!! RIGHT BY KELLAN!! LEFT!! RIGHT!! LEFT!! RIGHT!! DD: They are getting close to the entranceway! JR: And through it they go.. everyone in the back better watch out because those two are like a tornado coming through! DD: Amen to that! JR: And the Scrayper is now leaving Mashima to bleed in the ring as he's seemingly cut through the mask.. [Cut to Mash sitting up.. blood pouring out the mouthpiece of the mask.. seemingly staring down the Scrayper who turns and exits..] JR: Mashima promises to return the retaliatory favors tenfold.. and now he'll have a a chance very soon we can only hope. DD: I won't.. fizzuck Mashima. JR: Man oh man.. what a wild night.. and it's only gonna get wilder with our huge main event up next.. DD: Otto! JR: Damn rights.. and the Dirty One! DD: The ghost! Ghoul! Spectre! JR: But first, let's hear some words from Jamie Roth.. DD: Sheeit! [Fade in to Jamie Roth, backstage, looking a bit worse for wear. He's obviously not wrestling this week, which is why we're seeing him in casual clothes -- a System of a Down t-shirt, a pair of olive green cargo shorts, and white Adidas shelltoes. Roth is sitting on a chair, hunched foward towards the camera.] JR: Everyday, I feel like I'm on a mission... kind of a quest to dig deeper and find out more about myself. I guess this is what you could call soul-searching. I don't know what set the tone, really. Was it feuding with my first real enemy, Shane Destiny? Perhaps. A lot of people say that it wasn't the feud itself, but more like the fact I ended his career here in GIW. I basically have his blood on my hands... and what do I have to show for it? [Jamie pauses, glancing down at the ground.] JR: Nothing, really. You think anybody's intimidated by a guy like me? Jamsion Parker, maybe, but that's probably as far as I can get. I could never get anybody to fear me... not as far as I can remember. I was always the kid who either got picked on or the kid who didn't matter... not that I had a problem with it. I don't care to hog the spotlight. All of that changed, though. Who'da thunk it? Jamie Roth -- professional wrestler. That sounds cool, although not exactly the best life in the world. Working for shit, fueled by ramen. That's how it is... at least if you're not wrestling in Los Angeles or Canada, perhaps. [He chuckles to himself. Jamie sits back in the chair, sighing.] JR: I got my ass kicked last week, but I suppose I gave it my all. I always do. They always say I do. Angie always says I do. Sometimes, I just find it harder and harder to believe. [Fade.] DD: WHHHHHHHAAAAAAAAA!!! Listen to the baby cry! JR: Dirk! DD: What? JR: Here's a reminder of who he single-handedly forced out of the Grand Isle.. DD: DON'T! I hear ya.. stop. JR: Hehehe. Fans, on deck is our huge main event.. so let's hear some final word- [Suddenly a deep mellow sound of a guitar reverberates through the Sand Dollar 'arena', as a weakened voice speaks over the sound system.] #Where do I take this pain of mine #I run but it stays right by my side [Without a second more, the guitar blares to life as the Metallica's "Until it Sleeps" echoes throughout the Marina. A HUGE heel pop ignites over the jam-packed Sand Dollar as the chaos is swallowed into the night sky.] DD: McBAINE!!! JR: Well now that he's coming out here, maybe he can shed some light on what's going on with him and that Sierra vixen. DD: Vixen? You make her sound like she's a vivid video star or something. Do you know something I don't? #So tear me open, pour me out #The things inside that scream and shout #And the pain still hates me #So hold me until it sleeps [A camera zooms its way up the make-shift aisle finally stopping at the curtains. Suddenly the curtains explode as Sierra Hayes storms into the isle, still wearing her vinyl mini skirt, black boots and her white blouse, though now it appears to look a bit grimey. The crowd gives her a couple of cat calls which are quickly drowned out by a chorus of boos at the sight of what she has on her right shoulder... the Grand Isle Wrestling Heavyweight Championship.] JR: What in the hell is she doing with the belt? DD: My question is where's McBaine? I know McBaine and he'd kill anyone for looking the wrong way at HIS title! Look what he did to Brady! [After a few moments, a hand emerges from behind the curtains and slowly begins to pull one of the curtains to the side. A massive figure dressed in black jeans, boots, a tank top with a face hidden behind his matted hair appears in the aisle way. A rather large eye patch can be made out beneath the hair and a litter of wounds stitched closed covers the figure’s body. It is "Bad Eye" McBaine. But something is different about him... namely the emotionless expression in his face.] JR: Well there's the champ... but he's not looking too good. I'm no doctor but I think it has something to do with all those needles that she's been sticking in him. DD: You're right. You're not a doctor. So shut your mouth and let the professional nurse do what she's been trained to do! JR: Do you really think she's a nurse? I'm beginning to doubt it. DD: McBaine is up and moving after a match that got us banned from New Orleans. Hell yeah, she's a real nurse! Actually I wouldn't mind a little bit of her bedside manner! [Sierra, lacking of any emotion but rage, storms to the ring with McBaine slowly in tow. Once they reach the ring, McBaine enters and stands in the corner, head apparently heavy with pain as she grabs a house mic.] JR: It looks like some questions may be answered by the lady in question. DD: You need to really work on your commentating skills. That was just horrible. [Sierra furiously paces back and forth in the ring, before stopping suddenly to try and calm her breathing.] Sierra: This... was supposed to be my night... [Sierra grits her teeth and takes a deep breath.] Sierra: This was _SUPPOSED_ to be the night that I would remember for the rest of my life! But NOOOOO! There are f[beep] ing little bastard kids running around making fun of me and f[beep]ing ass motha-f[beep]ing two bit security guards throwing me out of MY OWN F[BEEP]ING ARENA!! ARRRRRGGGGGGGHHHHH!!!!! [The frustration brims within her as she paces around the ring again..] JR: That's quite a mouth on that lady. DD: She's had a tough day, I guess. Sierra: You can't F[BEEP]ING TREAT ME LIKE THIS!!! Do you _KNOW_ who I _AM_???? [Seething now, Sierra pauses as she surveys the arena. McBaine has yet to leave the turnbuckle.] Sierra: I _AM_ THE LOVER OF "BAD EYE" McBAINE!!! AND _WE_ ARE THE HEAVYWEIGHT CHAMPION OF THIS FEDERATION!!!! [TREMENDOUS HEEL POP!] Sierra: As the _CHAMPION_ all of you people should be on your hands and knees kissing our feet!! But NOOOOOOO! Everyone around here has their heads SO far up their asses, they don't realize the RESPECT I DESERVE!! [Sierra stops and points right at the ground.] Sierra: Well it stops right HERE! [Sierra glares at the curtain to the back as she points down the isle.] Sierra: EVERYTHING stops right here because _WE_ are not leaving this ring until those two bastards in the back come out here RIGHT NOW and give me an APOLOGY! So get your asses out here NOW! [HEEL POP!] JR: An apology? They can't just hold up this show for an apology! DD: With McBaine backing her, she can do whatever she damn well pleases. JR: Good point. [After about a minute, the curtain to the back finally opens and the two guards from earlier in the show appear. A second later 3 more guards soon join them.] JR: Welll it looks like security is finally out here, but it doesn't look like they're here to apologize. [The two guards whisper back and forth for a moment as they point to McBaine who is still seemingly anchored to the turnbuckle. They turn back to the other guards and send them back behind the curtain. Both guards then approach the ring as the guard with the "Roger" name tag grabs a mic from ringside.] Rog: Okay lady, you've had your fun tonight, living in your little imaginary world. It's time you go back to where you belong. Out of this building and back at the loony farm. [As the guards enter the ring, Sierra quickly stands eye to eye with one of them.] Sierra: I belong _RIGHT_ here next to my man, you motha-[BEEP]er!! [FILTHY MOUTH POP!!] JR: Can someone please stop her? This is a family show! DD: Have we been sitting through the same matches? [The guards look towards the back.] Rog: Can someone back there kill her mic? Sierra: How dare yo-- [Her voice suddenly is replaced with silence. She shakes the mic a few times before glaring at the now laughing guards in utter disbelief. Her lips begin to contort into a bit of a sneer.] DD: I don't think they should have done that, JR. She looks like she's gonna blo-- ["OH SH*T IT'S ON" POP as Sierra tosses the mic at the guards barely missing them. Within a second, both guards tackle her struggling body to the ground. They yank her up to her feet, kicking and screaming in a blinding rage. They start to drag her to the ring ropes as she fights them with little success... so she tries something different...] Sierra: TREVVVVOOOOORRRRRR!!!!! [McBaine's eye abruptly becomes alive with a fire as he watches the guards try to drag Sierra from the ring. McBaine deliberately storms over to the trio, grabs one of the guards by the back of the neck and tosses him towards the center of the ring.] [HEEL POP!!] DD: Oh my! McBaine looks pissed! JR: McBaine is just staring at him and he looks like he's a deer trapped in the headlights! [The guard stares intently at McBaine for a few moments before being overwhelmed with some type of male bravado and lunging at McBaine only to receive... [CCCCRRRRAAAAAACCCCCCCKKKKKKKK!!!!!!!!!!!!!!] [TTTTHHHHHUUUUUUUDDDDDDD!!!!!!!!] [MASSIVE HEEL POP!!!!!] JR: HEADBUTT BY McBAINE FLOORS HIM!!! HE JUST WASTED A DAMN SECURITY GUARD!! DD: THE OTHER GUARD JUST JUMPED ON McBAINE FROM BEHIND!!! [With one quick swoop, McBaine flips the guard off of his back and splatters him on the mat in front of him.] JR: McBaine looks to be a man possessed! He's got that guard he just dumped to the floor by his hair.. DD: This soooooo rules! JR: The crowd exploding in a chorus of booes as he's picked the man up onto his shoulder! Dear God no! DON'T DO IT!! [TTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDD!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!] [HUGH HEEL POP!!] DD: BLIND VALLEY DRIVER!!!! BLIND VALLEY DRIVER ON THE SECURITY GUARD!! ONE MORE LEFT.. AND THE CRAZ BASTARD IS ACTUALLY CHARGING THE RECOVERING McBAINE!! JR: Don't do that! [But he does.. clubbing McBaine in that injured back with rights.. McBaine grimacing in big pain.. the guard making strides..] JR: Watch out!! Sierra! [OOOOOOOOOOOOOOHHHHHHHHHH SHIT POP!!!!!!!] JR: SIERRA GOES LOW ON THE SECURITY GUARD FROM BEHIND!! SHE'S DOUBLED OVER THE MAN.. AND NOW McBAINE IS UP!! DD: Kick him to the curb, champ! JR: Kick to the stomach! McBaine pulling the man into a standing headscissors.. Good christ! Don't! DD: He lifts! [TTTTTTTTTTTTTTTHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDD!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!] [MASSIVE HEEL POP!!!!!!!!!!] JR: GOOD LORD!! McBAINE JUST SPIKED THE FINAL GUARD WITH A PILEDRIVER!! AND LOOK AT SIERRA!! SHE'S GOT SOME SICK.. DEVIOUSLY HAPPY LOOK ON HER FACE!! THAT LADY IS GONE! DD: But she is sooooooooooo hot! JR: Who cares?! She belongs in an asylum! DD: Granted! [Cut to Sierra smiling.. and then a pull back on the ring.. as three guards are rendered possibly unconscious in the ring.. the crowd booing and now throwing cups and shit at the champ.. who just stares at the mess he's made..] [HEEL POP!!!!!!!!!!!] JR: The crowd reacting to the big hug Sierra is now giving her.. is he her fiancee? DD: Not quite sure.. but they sure look happy together! JR: Riiiiiiiiiiight. McBaine is just glaring away at the guys on the ground.. I'm not sure he knows where he is.. or who he is for that matter! DD: But Sierra does.. and now she's trying to lead him out of the ring.. what a happy couple! JR: The Bates family looked more secure than these two. DD: Jake! JR: It's the truth. Fans.. while these two psychos leave the ring.. let's show you some pre-recorded comments of the man just moments away from his big, highly touted in-ring return.. let's hear from Otto "The Butcher" Verhoeven. [SCENE: A darkened locker room somewhere in the bowels of the building. A dull, repeating sound can be heard. -thumb- - thumb- -thumb- After a moment it stops. The camera pans to the far wall of the room to reveal the massive figure of Otto "the Butcher" Verhoeven, leaning against a wall, his face flushed a dark red. He is wearing a black t-shirt and black jeans, a plain outfit. He does not look at the camera. Instead, his eyes are fixed on some point to the side of it. When he speaks, his booming voice sounds ... hollow, emotionless.] OV: Tonight, I return. For three years, no bell has rung to herald my arrival. No crowds of people have seen me do what I always did best. I thought I had it all left behind. But responsibility ... duty ... [He raises his fists to his chest and only now can we see that his knuckles are bleeding. Otto stares at his hands.] OV:... the spilled blood of my family ... they call me back to this nation. Not to fight in my crusade of old. Not to avenge Herr Hardin, perhaps the only foreigner I ever respected. Nein. Just for Taylor. [Verhoeven runs his right hand over his head, smearing some blood on it in the process.] OV: Tonight, the Butcher returns. The owners of GIW were delighted when I contacted them. They have not realized who they brought into their promotion. Teutonic Terror. German Juggernaut. [Otto clenches and unclenches his hands as he becomes more tense by the moment. No longer emotionless, anger and hate start to creep into his voice.] OV: Those words seem to have lost their meaning. All remember them, but few see the scenes in their heads that earned me those names. They are more than naked monikers. They mean that my opponent tonight will suffer and cry and bleed ... [He hesitates for a moment and blinks as he finally glares at the camera.] OV: Do you believe in the past, Herr Woodall? In times past, you would have been a perfect opponent for me, another typical American, dirty, illiterate ... _weak_. An underdog who believes in his valiant chance to overcome me, the superior athlete, only to be crushed for the glory of Germany. The past ... Do not dwell on it. Tonight, for me, you are only a nameless rag doll, no opponent. [A sneer crosses his features.] OV: Will you speak like Taylor for me, Herr Woodall? Will you cry like him? Will you bleed like him? [With that, Otto turns his back on the camera and punches the wall, hard, so hard that some plaster falls to the ground. -thumb- And again -thumb- And again -thuumb- -thumb- -thumb- ... Fade to black.] DD: Lord have mercy on the Dirty One's soul. JR: Fans, let's take you to Antonio Hervez for the official introductions to our _huge_ main event.. DD: Are we on speed dial? JR: Damn straight. [Cut to Hervez.] AH: Ladies an' gentlemen.. our next bout ees our MAIN EVENT OF THE EVENING! [BIG TIME POP!!] Eet ees scheduled for one fall.. with a thirty meenute time leemit.. introdu- [Suddenly, the crowd looks towards the entrance curtain...] DD: What's going on? JR: It looks like somebody's on their way out. DD: There's nobody scheduled for an in-ring right now. Who the hell is it? [The fans quickly come to their feet and pop big as "Dirty" Doyle Woodall, clad in street clothes with his hair pulled back in a ponytail, splits the curtain and heads towards the ring...] [Woodall climbs the ring stairs and steps through the ropes into the ring, calling for a house mic...] DD: Don't give that redneck a mic! JR: Lighten up, Dirk. The man's got something to say. DD: I'm sure that moron in the David Allan Coe t-shirt in the front row's got something to say, too, but we don't give that nimrod a mic! [A ringside tech tosses Woodall a mic, and he turns to address the camera...] DDW: Ya know, I'm gittin' pretty damned sick and tired o' repeatin' myself. Back at Nightmare, I thought I made it crystal clear why the Dirty One came back to the Grand Isle. Two weeks ago, right here in the middle o' this ring, I thought I said it just about as plain and simple as a man could possibly say it. But I'll be damned if it ain't two weeks later, and here's the Dirty One standin' in the middle o' this same damned ring, sayin' the same damned thang. [Woodall pauses to collect himself, then addresses the camera again...] DDW: When my doctor asked me why I was takin' the chance on' comin' back, I didn't tell him I was comin' back to throw down with Bobby Taylor. Hell, if I wanted to lock horns with a half-ass cowboy with cheap whiskey on his breath and a chip on his shoulder, I woulda stayed home. Ya can't swing a dead cat in Las Cruces without hittin' a sumbitch that fits that profile. [Crowd pop!] DDW: And when my old lady unscrewed that bottle o' Boones Farm from her lips long enough to ask me why I was packin' up and headin' back to Louisiana, I sure as hell didn't tell her I was comin' back to go toe-to-toe with some washed-up, half-crippled old man like Otto Verhoeven, either. [A smattering of boos...] JR: Whoa! DD: Woodall had better watch his mouth! [Woodall glares into the camera...] DDW: Yeah, I said it. And I really don't give a damn who likes it or who don't like it, 'cause Verhoeven's nothin' to me and never has been. Yeah, the man's a legend that's made a whole lot o' sumbitches wish they'd never laced up a pair o' wrestlin' boots, but all that's ancient damned history to the Dirty One, and history belongs in the record books, not in this damned ring. Far as the Dirty One's concerned, Verhoeven's got one foot in between these posts and one foot in the nursin' home, and if he stays in my way for too damned long, I just might send his ass back to Shady Acres for good. [More boos...] DDW: But just like I said, Verhoeven and Taylor and Thunder and Stonebreaker and Jacobs and Hardin and any other long- gone has-been the Gee-Eye-Dubya brass wants to run in here ain't none o' the Dirty One's concern. The Dirty One came back from what shoulda been a career-endin' injury, an injury that woulda put just about any other swingin' d[BEEP]k back in that locker-room on the shelf for good, for one reason and one reason only... ... and that's to put Bobby Ray Wilkins' ass in a sling. [Crowd pop!] DDW: I'm runnin' out o' ways to say it, Wilkins. Ya nearly put me out o' this business for good. Ya nearly ended my career, hoss. But now that the Dirty One's back and itchin' to square thangs up with ya, yer gonna run around here like a striped-ass ape, throwin' holy water and carryin' on about ghosts and spirits and what-not? Ya might be foolin' some folks somewhere with that horse-s[BEEP]t, Wilkins, but ya ain't foolin' the Dirty One. Ya ain't crazy... ... yer _scared_. [Crowd pop!] DDW: And even though they say runnin' mad ain't caught runnin' scared yet, there's a first time for everythang, Wilkins, and ya best believe that the Dirty One will catch up with ya sooner or later. I don't care if the brass books the match, or we meet up in the locker-room, or I catch ya by yerself in the parking lot, or if I just happen to see ya standin' in line at the local check-cashin' place. Make no mistake about it, Wilkins, when the Dirty One finally catches up with ya... [Woodall glares hard into the camera...] DDW: ... yer gonna wish like hell that one of us _was_ dead. [Woodall tosses the mic and awaits the entrance of the Butcher.] JR: Wow. "Dirty" Doyle Woodall is definitely a man possessed. I don't think I've ever heard talk that tough from the Dirty One. DD: The man can talk all he wants, Rodgers, but the fact remains that Bobby Ray Wilkins has already sent Woodall packing once, and there's no reason to believe that he can't do it again. Woodall's an idiot for coming back here in the first place. JR: And what about the comments about Verhoeven? I didn't expect that at all, considering Woodall's new-found popularity here in GIW. DD: Verhoeven's got pieces of guys like Woodall in his stool, Rodgers. And as far as Woodall's new-found popularity, ya gotta remember that these fans are the same people that made Billy Ray Cyrus a household name. They wouldn't know quality if it crawled up their asses. AH: And his opponent.. [Strobe lights start to flash in the arena as the crowd instantly POPS LIKE MAD!! In synch, the haunting theme of John Carpenter's "Halloween" starts to blare. Then the huge shape of Otto Verhoeven steps into the aisle. He stops for a moment to look at the stands with a look of disgust on his face, then marches toward the ring, not acknowledging the crowd at all. The German's movements are tense and his jaw is working all the time. He slowly climbs the ring steps to enter the ring. Verhoeven takes a moment to glare at the referee before he moves into the center of the ring and raise a gloved fist above his head. The salute lasts only a few seconds before he lumbers back into his corner.] AH: In the ring at this time.. he weighs in tonight at 340 pounds.. and he hails from Essen, Germany.. here is.. OTTO "THE BUTCHER" VERHOEVEN!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! [MASSIVE FACE POP!!! as Verhoeven never acknowledges the crowd.. simply glaring down a game Doyle Woodall.] DD: He hates the fans, but they love him. Hee-haw'n southerners! JR: They appreciate what this man represents! DD: Germany? JR: Hrm.. I was talking more about his status in the wrestling world. DD: Oh,, good. ------------------------------------------------------------------ Grand Isle Wrestling: Main Event!! In-Ring Return Match!!!! "Dirty" Doyle Woodall vs. Otto "The Butcher" Verhoeven Written By: Mike Gilliland ------------------------------------------------------------------ JR: Fans around the world have waited a very long time for this moment.. for the time the legendary Butcher stepped back into the rings of professional wrestling.. and here we are. DD: In the goddamn Grand Isle.. like a heaven-sent for Hell on Earth. JR: Both men of the large variety.. Verhoeven with a definite weight advantage on the dirty One as they circle each other in the ring.. both men's eyes flaring with intensity.. [Big Pop! as they converge right at each other with fists a' blaring!] JR: And here we go! Verhoeven and Woodall! Woodall and Verhoeven! Big right by Otto! A right by Doyle! Another right by The Butcher! And another by the Dirty One! Exchanging big rights as neither man willing to give an inch.. DD: These big boys came to play! JR: And a big kneelift by Verhoeven stops Woodall long enough to push him into the ropes.. big Irish whip sends the Dirty One off the farside ropes.. huge clothesli-, ducked by Woodall who continues off the nearside ropes! On the return.. he leaps! [And he leaps.. catching Verhoeven flush under the chin with a flying forearm..] DD: Wow! Big flying forearm but he merely moved the mountain.. he's far from crashing it down! JR: And Otto looks pissed! Woodall quickly up again.. off the nearside ropes he goes.. and another flying forearm catches Otto right in the face.. but _again_ he refuses to fall! That one definitely seemed to rock him back though! DD: Third time may be a charm! JR: And a third time he will try as he goes off the ropes again.. but here comes Verhoeven! Doyle off the ropes! Right into the arms of Ver- [TTTTTTTHHHHHHHUUUUUUUUUDDDDDDDD!!!!!!!] [BIG POP!!!!] JR: OH MY! What an earthshaking spinning spinebuster by the three hundred and forty plus pound German juggernaut! DD: Devastating! JR: And now Verhoeven not making the cover here as he's rolling his massive frame out onto the concrete below.. he seems to be searching under the ring.. DD: That man with any foreign objects is a bad sign for Woodall who seems to slowly be recovering.. JR: That he is as Verhoeven has now pulled out a big, black duffel bag.. with what inside.. well.. we can only imagine.. [Who knows? Otto prolly does. Nevertheless.. he rolls the back into the ring and also rolls in as well.. but his time- consummation cost him as Woodall is up and starts to stomp away on the downed Verhoeven with huge stomps to the lower back.. and a few towards Otto's knees which he tries to cover up/protect.] JR: Woodall wasting no time regaining the advantage after having the starch taken out of his with that spinebuster.. DD: I think Otto may have had it won right there.. simply because Doyle is a buttpirate. JR: Riiiiiight. DD: Argh, sailor! JR: Good lord. And now it's the Dirty One pulling the behemoth from Germany back to his feet.. Doyle with a few solid forearms to the face of the big man backs him into a corner as Woodall begins to stomp away at the inner portions of both of Otto's injury-riddled knees.. a strategy you gotta believe Taylor will attempt to exploit at any moment.. DD: Perhaps even tonight. JR: I sure hope not.. I sorta enjoyed an Outlaw-free show so far. DD: Yeah, but you also love the cock. JR: Bastard. DD: Most definitely. JR: Woodall giving a quick glance back at the duffel back but deciding against snooping as he grabs the arm of Verhoeven.. Irish whip to the far turnbuckle goes the Teutonic Terror.. Woodall following in quick and hard.. [Thud!] and rocking Verhoeven with a running clothesline! DD: This is futile! You gotta keep a monster off his feet to be effective.. then again, Woodall is rumored to have fucked his mother in the pooper.. so.. JR: Dirk! What the hell would that have to do with how he's wrestling? DD: Nothing, nothing at all. [Woodall wastes no time firing Verhoeven back across to the other turnbuckle.. quickly following in with another big clothesline.. which staggers Verhoeven forward out of the corner.. into the scoop of Woodall!] JR: The crowd rising in decibel level as Woodall goes for the MONSTER scoop slam! But no! Otto raining down big elbows crowning Woodall on the top of the head with one after another.. the third.. now the fourth releasing the scoop hold.. Otto grabs and Irish whips the Dirty One into the rope.. DD: Time for the German to take charge.. JR: Woodall on the return.. [TTTTTTTHHHHHUUUUUUDDDDDDDDD!!!] [POP!!!!!!] JR: What a decleating big boot by the Butcher that puts Woodall flat on his back on the mat! Verhoeven making a slow charge into and now off the ropes! He leaps.. [TTTTTTTTTTHHHHHHHHHHUUUUUUUUUUUUDDDDDDDDDDDDD!!!!!!!!!] DD: OUCH!!! JR: WHAT A HUGE SPLASH BY THE TEUTONIC TERROR!! HE STAYS ON HIS PREY FOR THE COVER!! One!!!!!!!!!!!! Two!!!!!!!!!!!! Shoulder Up! [Appreciative Pop!] JR: And Woodall slips a shoulder out on a monster splash by the big German. DD: I still wanna know what is in that damned bag. JR: We may soon find out here as Verhoeven slowly back to his feet and now returning to that duffel bad on the apron.. [Otto gives it a quick one over before unzipping it.. at first he pulls out a black cowboy hat that receives a substantial amount of BOOES! He then pulls out.. AN OLD "OUTLAW" MASK?!] DD: What the hell does Otto think this is, fuckin' Halloween? JR: I think he's going to put the mask on Woodall and enact what he plans to do to Taylor once he finally gets the real Outlaw in his grasp! DD: Oh.. well, right on then. [And then the crowd just EXPLODES INTO CHEERS! as Otto pulls out the final piece inside the bag.. holding it up to the crowd!] JR: Oh.. my.. god! DD: BARBED WIRE! JR: Otto just pulled out a spoil of barbed wire.. he's got something strange going on here with the mask.. and hat.. and the barbed wire.. and now he's pulling Woodall back to his feet.. one hand on the barbed wire as he lets the mask and hat fall beside them on the mat.. DD: This guy is gone.. Otto has certifiably lost it these past few years. JR: That may very well be the case.. but he's here in the Grand Isle.. employed and ready to exact some reveng- [MIXED POP!!] JR: And Woodall goes low.. doubling over the monster German who drops the spoil of barbed wire on the mat! Woodall hooks the head! [TTTTTTTTTHHHHHHHHHHUUUUUUUUUUUUDDDDDDDDDDDD!!!!!!!!!!!] [HARDCORE POP!!!!!!!] DD: LORDIE! JR: Big DDT right onto that spoil of barbed wire! Doyle Woodall just spiked the German Juggernaut facefirst into the razor sharp barbs! He turns the big man over.. blood starting to pour off Otto's face.. but that matters none as Woodall drops down and hooks the leg! One!!!!!!!!!!!! Two!!!!!!!!!!!! Kickout!!!!!!!! [APPRECIATIVE POP!!!] JR: Close! DD: But no cigar! JR: From the past, we all know what it takes to keep the Juggernaut down.. DD: An atom bomb? JR: Nothing short of it, that's for sure. [Woodall sits up.. wasting no time getting back to his feet and kicking away at the downed big man.. Woodall running off the ropes.. Thud!] JR: And Woodal with a nice running kneedrop across the forehead of Otto.. he's up again.. off the ropes.. [Thud!] and now a big legdrop across the throat of the Butcher! DD: He's trying to cut off Otto's air supply.. for a guy with that much size in him.. to take away his air would mean sure victory. JR: Sounds like you wrote the Art of War.. Sun. DD: Blow me. JR: Woodall now lifting the giant back to his feet.. a big forearm.. and another.. and another backs up the bleeding Butcher into the corner where Doyle Woodall just begins to pepper the big German with overhand rights and lefts.. [POP! as the Butcher just springs out.. grabbing Woodall and firing him into the corner.. trading positions!] JR: And now it's the Butcher laying in the big overhand rights and lefts that have Woodall reeling in the corner! Another! And another! And another! And-, oh! Woodall lunged out and caught the Butcher right in the stomach with a nasty kneelift.. DD: Good way to end that rally for the Dirty One, finally living up to his name here.. JR: Woodall returns the switch that puts the Butcher back in the corner.. Irish whip, reversed by the Butcher! Woodall hits the farside turnbuckle hard! And here comes Otto! He runs.. he leaps! [TTTTHHHHHHUUUUUUUNNNNNNKKKKKKK!!!!!!!!] [SEMI-POP!] JR: Woodall moved out of the way of the huge running corner splash and Otto hit nothing but turnbuckle! He turns around! SCOOP UP BY WOODALL!! BY GOD!! [TTTTTTTTHHHHHHHHHUUUUUUUUUUDDDDDDDDDD!!!!!!!!!!!] [OLD-SCHOOL BIG GUY GETS SLAMMED POP!!!] DD: My lord! Otto is like three hundred and forty plus pounds! JR: And Woodall just bodyslammed him with relative ease! He makes the cover! One!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Two!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Kickout!!!!!!!!!!!!! [POP!!] JR: Didn't think so! DD: No doubt.. it was an impressive feat of strength.. but we know the resiliency of the Teutonic Terror. JR: That we do.. but what a show of strength by the Dirty One.. looking marvelous here tonight! [Woodall pulls himself back to his feet.. slowly pulling the bloody Verhoeven up as well..] JR: Woodall all over the Tetonic Terror.. not giving him room to breathe as he doubles the monster over with a big boot to the stomach.. DD: He's setting him up for something.. JR: The Dirty One off the nearside ropes now.. targeted on the doubled over Verhoeven on the reutnr.. here comes Wooda- [Thud!!!] [Big Pop!!!] JR: My oh my! Verhoeven playing a bit of possum and just lambasted the Dirty One with a big lariat out of virtually nowhere! DD: And the tide once again shall turn! JR: And Verhoeven wasting no time going back over to that spool of barbed wire.. that cowboy hat.. and the Outlaw mask! DD: This could get embarrassing. JR: In a hurry. DD: Definitely. JR: Woodall slowly getting back to his feet as Verhoeven has that barbed wire in his hand.. I'm sure that's gotta hurt.. DD: Not nearly as bad as getting your head driven into it, I'm sure. JR: More than likely. [Verhoeven turns and pops Woodall in the face with the Outlaw mask/fist combo.. flattening him on his back.. and now starts to put the mask on!] JR: He's trying to get the mask on Woodall. but once again he's fighting it.. even as he lays on the ground! [HEEL POP!!!!!!!] DD: BRW!!!!!! JR: What the hell is he doing?! DD: Coming out to see what the ghost is doing! JR: Ghost.. riiiiiiight. [Nevertheless the crowd continues to boo as BRW makes his way towards the ring cautiously.. MIXED POP!!!!!!] JR: Oh! And once again Doyle Woodall goes low doubling over the big German! Woodall right back up.. standing headscissors.. you don't think?! DD: He's gonna try to piledrive or powerbomb him? JR: Seems like it! But wait! He sees BRW in the aisleway! DD: And instinctively he drops Verhoeven.. but the big man doesn't even fall.. Otto is still up! JR: Woodall doesn't care.. he's leaning over the ropes and yelling at that cowardly punk BRW to come down to the ring! DD: He better pay attention.. JR: OTTO! DD: Yep! JR: Woodall must sense him 'cause he's turning back around.. side scoop by Verhoeven! [BIG POP!!!] JR: Backbreaker-style torture rack! [And then Verhoeven grabs Woodall by the head.. flipping Woodall off his shoulders.. ..down.. ..down.. ..down.. TTTTTTTTTTTTTTHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDD!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!] [MONSTER POP!!!!!!!!!!] JR: OH MY GOD!! THAT WAS LIKE.. A WICKED INVERTED DEATH VALLEY BOMB!! HE QUICKLY HOOKS THE LEG!!! WHAT A MOVE!! ONE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! TWO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! THREEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! [DING!! DING!! DING!!] [BIG TIME POP!!!!!!!] AH: Ladies an' gentlemen.. the winner of the match.. OTTO "THE BUTCHER" VERHOEVEN!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! [ANOTHER HUGE POP!!!.. AND NOW BOOOOSSSSSSS!!] JR: Big win for the returning Otto Verhoeven but in comes BRW! He quickly picks up Woodall.. standing headscissors.. he lifts! [TTTTTTTTHHHHHHHHUUUUUUUUUUDDDDDDDDDDD!!!!!!!] [MEGA-HEE POP!!!!] DD: HUGE PILEDRIVER!! WILKINS RULES!! JR: THIS IS WRONG!! BRW IS TRYING TO PICK HIM UP AGAIN!! DD: OH SHIT!!!!! [BIG TIME POP!!!] [And why not? BRW doesn't see the behemoth known as Otto Verhoeven looming behind him!] JR: Turn around and get your just desserts! DD: No!!!! Run! JR: Wilkins turns! Scoop up.. inverted torture rack! [TTTTTTTTTTTTTHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDD!!!!!!!!!] [MASSIVE FACE POP!!!!!!!!!!!] JR: ANOTHER HUGE INVERTED DEATH VALLEY BOMB BY VERHOEVEN!!! WHAT A NIGHT FOR A RETURN!! WHAT A NIGHT TO MAKE A SPLASH BACK IN THE WRESTLING SCENE!!! A NIGHT WITHOUT THE OUTLAW!! WHAT A NIGHT!! WE GOTTA GO!! WE GOTTA GO!! [Fade out to Verhoeven standing amongst the two downed foes.. fans chanting his name as we complete fade.] Grand Isle Wrestling 2002