At the same time a countdown appears on screen.
The guitar riff is playing over this countdown.
When the countdown reaches zero, there’s a pause, and then the rest of the hard hitting instruments kick in.
The intro video ends and we flash to the Annihilation logo.
ON
Cue the huge boom of the indoor pyrotechnics display.
BOOM!!
BOOM!!!
The cameras pan around the arena, showing shots of various fan signs including:
(JB) Welcome to Annihilation! I’m JB Mann…
The camera cuts to the ringside announcer’s table, where JB Mann and Tom “The Bear” Kalhoun are standing by.
(Tom) Ding Dong, the Witch is dead!
(JB) And with me, unfortunately, as always…
(Tom) Which Witch? The Wicked Witch!
(JB) Is none other than Tom “the Bear” Kalhoun.
(Tom) Ding Dong, the Wicked Witch is Dead!
(JB) Why on earth are you singing, Bear?
(Tom) Because, for the first time since your mother told me that she finally did, in fact, get her period this month, Mann-Wagon, I’m really freakin’ happy. We had two title matches at Last Rites: Anointed with Blood, ended up with two new champions, and finally, all is right with the world.
(JB) For those of you who weren’t with us for Last Rites, Bear’s referring to Hush and Trevor Cunning.
(Tom) That’s right, Mann-Chowder! Not only did Hush rip the Atlantic Championship from Mike Stryker’s cold, dead, hands…
(JB) Although it did take some help from Hush’s manager, Nathaniel Essex.
(Tom) Would you quit making things up? You’re such a trouble maker, Mann-Wheel.
(JB) You were saying.
(Tom) Not only did Hush capture the Atlantic Championship, but the Godfather, one half of the Trust Fund Kids and my personal friend: Mister Trevor Cunning broke Diamond Del Carver in half and walked out our new Foundation Heavyweight Champion!
(JB) Del Carver, unfortunately, suffered a variety of injuries, from broken bones to severe lacerations, and will not be with us tonight, or for the foreseeable future. Which is lucky for Trevor Cunning, because as soon as the Texas Outlaw returns, there’s going to be hell to pay!
The Ascent of Trevor
Whispers make way for an auditory automobile accident, allowing abrasive audio to assault all in attendance. Heavy bass line, screeching guitars and a haunting yet powerful presence? This is Tool, this is Sober, and with Maynard and the chorus comes your new Foundation Heavyweight Champion: Trevor Cunning.
(JB) This sick, sadistic, son of a snake nearly killed Diamond Del Carver.
(Tom) What do you expect when you toss a senior citizen in the ring with a physical specimen like Trevor Cunning, Mann-Hole? Carver knew exactly what he was getting into when he stepped into the ring to face The Godfather. Hell, Carver said he was willing to die for the Championship… he’s probably happy.
(JB) How can anyone be happy with broken bones and dozens upon dozens of stitches, Bear?
(Tom) Haven’t you ever heard of narcotics, Mann-Wheel? And no, I’m not talking about our beloved Gillian Narcotica, although now… I’m tempted to pull out this month’s issue of NAFW: The Magazine, and check out her eleven page spread.
(JB) NAFW: The Magazine, on newsstands everywhere!
(Tom) The NAFW could do without Del Carver as far as I’m concerned. Now that the Naked Trucker and T-Bone is on Comedy Central, I can get my obnoxious redneck fix at least six times a day.
(JB) They do overplay things quite a bit, don’t they?
(Tom) Not as much as VH1.
(JB) Well, I for one hope Del Carver comes back from his injuries as soon as humanly possible to finish Cunning off once and for all.
Cunning emerges from behind the curtain and is immediately consumed by the ravenous roar of rigorous derision. He’s clad tonight, in a baby blue polo with a navy blue polo on top, both collars popped of course, and a pair of designer khakis. In his right hand, he holds a bottle of Jack Daniels and in his left, the Foundation Heavyweight Championship.
Cunning raises both objects, symbols of his supremacy, high above his head, and allows the pieces of trash, soda cups, and popcorn boxes to rain down upon him.
(JB) How can Cunning revel in the fact that every man, woman and child in this arena hates his guts?
(Tom) The Godfather lives by one principle Mann-Chowder: If you’re going to bother, at least be damn good at what you do.
(JB) As much as it pains me to say this, that belt around Cunning’s waist proves that, for right now anyway, that he’s the best.
The Godfather makes his way to ringside, deflecting the debris and the outstretched hands of the fans in attendance desperate to grab on to any glory they mind find in their pitiful, pathetic lives. He begins climbing up the ring strips, stopping to take a giant swig of Jack, before stepping to the center of the ring, leaning back on the ropes, raising both his Foundation Heavyweight Championship and his bottle of Jack Daniels into the air, and spitting a fine, Tennessee haze out into the first few rows of the audience
(Tom) That’s such a shame.
(JB) Finally, Bear, you acknowledge Cunning’s disgusting habit of expectorating all over the audience.
(Tom) I don’t know what expectidigtating means, Mann-Wagon.
(JB) Spitting, Bear.
(Tom) Oh, who gives a volleyball’s ass about Cunning spitting on the fans, Mann-Wheel? These pencil necked geeks deserve to be spit on by a man as accomplished, important, and talented as the Godfather.
(JB) You just said it was a shame.
(Tom) Yeah, wasting alcohol like that. That was at least enough to get your mom liquored up enough so she’s open to the possibility of picking a random page out of the Kama Sutra and seeing just how flexible she can be.
(JB) That was a very long set up for an awkward joke.
(Tom) Blame the writing staff. I only do what I can with the material.
Cunning tosses the Foundation Heavyweight Championship over his shoulder, adjusts his collars, and removes a microphone from his back pocket. Before he can speak, the crowd cuts him off, chanting “Asshole! Asshole!” Cunning responds by raising the Foundation Heavyweight Championship high above his head.
(Trevor) Vote or Die… how apropos. You voted… Diamond Delroy Carver died.
Cunning’s comment leads to a commanding chorus of “We Want Del! We Want Del!” chants from the crowd.
(Trevor) You white trash, inbred, mongoloid, pieces of crap chant for redneck denim freak Diamond Delroooooy Carver all you want… but he’s not coming out here! Del Carver is dead and gone, his career here is over!
“Asshole!”
(Trevor) Finished!
“Asshole!”
(Trevor) Sure. I’m the asshole. Remember one thing, you knuckle-dragging cousin lovers, you are the reason that I’m standing right here in this ring as your Foundation Heavyweight Champion!
(Tom) Cunning’s right, Mann-Hole.
(JB) I’m pretty sure that Keith Owens had a little something to do with Cunning’s victory, Bear.
(Trevor) You Voted. Delroy Carver died. Hell, Keith and I were going to throw him a funeral, but after I was finished beating him like the yellow bellied dog he is, there was barely enough left to cremate.
So instead, we went and sprinkled the ashes outside a Piggly Wiggly. It’s what the geezer would’ve wanted.
(JB) You beat the man, already Cunning. Do you have to keep verbally berating him? Haven’t you done enough to Del Carver?
(Tom) Del Carver deserves everything that he gets, Mann-itoba! Everything!
(Trevor) Now as many of you may know, I happen to possess a little predilection for addiction.
(JB) Gee, we hadn’t noticed, what with you carrying that handle of whisky around like a baby bottle.
(Tom) Don’t make fun, Mann-Chowder. The first step to fixing the problem is admitting you have one.
(Trevor) I see this Foundation Heavyweight Championship sitting on my shoulder, feel the weight of nearly fifteen pounds of solid gold, and I get a bigger buzz then after any three martini lunch.
(JB) When’s the last time Cunning ever stopped at three?
(Trevor) Now, my ascent to godliness took place only a week or so ago, but already I need another fix. As the pinnacle of perfection and the par exemplar of excellence, I doubt that I’ll deign to even look at the Atlantic Championship.
The big, ugly mute mongoloid and his foppish, little, British love doll can have fun with that piece of tin. I’ve got bigger things in mind.
(JB) What on earth could be bigger than the Foundation Heavyweight Championship?
(Tom) Maybe he’s going to ascend to a new level of existence, transcending this mortal plane… and he’ll smash a whisky bottle upside God’s skull and then drop a keg on his chest.
(JB) Didn’t someone else already try that?
(Tom) Yeah, but they didn’t do it all classy-like like Trevor would.
(Trevor) Now, ever since my good, close, personal friend Hector Gonzales decided to re-open the North American Foundation of Wrestling… only one team has displayed their dominance and that team is the Trust Fund Kids!
(JB) I’m pretty sure that Spaz and Lane put both Cunning and Owens in their place a few dozen times already.
(Tom) What do you know, Mann-Wagon? Seriously.
(Trevor) So come Death Wish, I’ll find my next fix… when Trevor Cunning and Keith Owens kick some ass, drink some beers, climb the ladder, take our wish, end some careers, and take those Tag Team Championships out on the town for the celebration of the century.
We’re as good as gold. You can trust me on that.
The fans in the arena leap to their feet as Roger Daltry’s familiar scream signals the start of the Who’s “Won’t Get Fooled Again.” But rest assured, wrestling shut-ins, this is not the start of yet another syndicated repeat of C.S.I. Miami, but rather, the arrival of NAFW Commissioner in Chief Ray Buchanan.
(Buchanan) I wouldn’t go marking your date book down in permanent ink, yet Mister Cunning. As far as the Commissioner and the Championship Committee are concerned, your month is going to turn out quite different than you expect it to.
(Trevor) So what, you’re going to make me defend the Foundation Heavyweight Championship before stepping into Three Wishes? Hell, I’ve wrestled twice in one night before and I nearly went sixty minutes with Delroy at Last Rites.
I can handle anything you throw at me, Ray Ray.
(Buchanan) Let’s get one thing straight, Mister Cunning: You haven’t qualified for Three Wishes yet. If you and Mister Owens manage to qualify, then you will not defend the Foundation Heavyweight Title at Death Wish.
(Tom) Woohoo!
(Trevor) Damn straight I won’t. It’s about time you started showing me the respect that I deserve, Buchanan.
(Buchanan) That’s Mister Buchanan, Mister Cunning. Now, just because there may not be a Foundation Heavyweight Championship match at Death Wish, doesn’t mean that you won’t be defending your title this month… in fact, you’re going to be defending next week right here on Annihilation!
(JB) Woah!
(Tom) He can’t do that, Mann-Wheel! Tell Buchanan he can’t do that!
(JB) Mister Buchanan can do whatever he wants, Bear. He is, after all, the boss.
(Tom) Someone get Hector on the phone. His lackey’s letting the power go to his head!
(Trevor) Woah, woah woah! I am sure as sunshine on a dog’s ass not defending my Foundation Heavyweight Championship next week! I still have twenty-six stitches in my forehead.
(Tom) That’s true, he does.
(Trevor) I still have a pair of fractured ribs, and quite possibly a bruised disc in my spinal column. I’ve got tennis elbow, water on the knee, and, this is just what my doctor told me, post traumatic stress disorder.
(JB) What is he, the game of Operation?
(Tom) Take these injuries lightly at your own peril, Mann-Wheel. We want Trevor to have a long and storied career.
(JB) Speak for yourself, Bear.
(Buchanan) So, seeing as how you’re planning on pulling out of next week’s scheduled title match, I suppose that you’re going to pull out of tonight’s Three Wishes Qualifier as well…and forfeit your only opportunity to obtain those Tag Team Titles you so desperately desire?
(Trevor) I’m not pulling out of tonight’s match.
(Tom) Speaking of pulling out, Mann-Hole, how’s your mom doing?
(Buchanan) Well, then. If you’re healthy enough to wrestle tonight, then you’re healthy enough to defend the Foundation Heavyweight right here, next week, on Annihilation!
(Trevor) You can’t do this to me, Buchanan! You don’t have the authority to!
(Tom) Tell him Trevor!
(Buchanan) I have the authority to do whatever I damn well please, Mister Cunning. You will defend the Foundation Heavyweight Championship next week.
(Trevor) Alright then, if this is how it’s going to be. Who is it? Which no talent hack with a death wish am I going to embarrass next week? Is it going to be the psychopath who thinks a volleyball talks to him? Are you going to wheel Delroy Carver down to ringside in his hospital bed so he can enact his rematch clause? Or are you going to put me in the ring with one of the tunic shillin’, wise crackin’ over the hill senior citizens who walk around reppin’ NAFW ORIGINAL? Or are you going to throw one of the B-Squad, FLF rejects at me? Tharodork, Heatwave… Mikey Strikey?
Go ahead, bump Stryker up to the big leagues. I swear to God I’ll set his ass on fire right in the middle of this goddamn ring.
Again.
(JB) Because that worked out for you so well last time, Cunning.
(Tom) Technically, when Stryker piledrove Trevor off of the entrance ramp through a flaming table, Stryker hit the flames first.
(JB) I’m sure the burn on Cunning’s scalp cared about technicalities, Bear.
(Trevor) What are you going to do, Buchanan? Bring back Alejandro so I can bitch slap that little cuckold around some more? Or is it going to be one of the Kurresh Brothers, fresh off the boat from some Japanese retirement community, hoping to emerge from obscurity in the hopes that some fat kid from Tupelo will start buying their merchandise again? Maybe… just maybe… you went and ripped up the contracts keeping some of Hector’s boys away in a pathetic attempt to get that has been James Batty back with promises of reclaiming his past glory.
Is it TomWorth or Kyle Cole? Dave Kaos? TF? Sean Summers? Paul Colard? Whitney Sarven? That fat fruit Muffan and his little Hispanic bottom? Raven? Faithless? Arwel Jones? Nefarious? Vinsanity? Mystic or Toilet Duck? Or did you have to go to and try to poach a top guy from the competition… as you know that no one NAFW Superstar past, present or future will ever… and I mean ever be able to take this title away from me?
(Tom) That’s so true it makes my brain hurt to think about the possibility of a fact existing that may, in fact, be truer than this particular fact.
(JB) I’m sorry?
(Tom) You sure are.
(JB) Cunning might be cocky now, but there’s a whole locker room full of Superstars just itching to take him on.
(Trevor) C’mon Ray Ray. You can tell me. Are you just going to put me in the ring with my good friend, Keith, hoping that the Foundation Heavyweight Championship will break up the band like some metallurgic Yoko Ono? You can tell your good friend, Trevor.
(JB) I’m willing to believe that Keith Owens believes that he can beat Cunning.
(Tom) Even if he did, Mann-Wagon, the man would never wrestle his best friend.
(JB) You say that now, Bear… but what about when the Foundation Heavyweight Championship is involved.
(Buchanan) To be perfectly blunt Mister Cunning, right now I don’t feel like telling you who you’re going to be facing next week.
(JB) That was matter of fact.
(Tom) That’s bullcrap is what it is, Mann-Wheel. I’m willing to bet that if Del Carver was still Foundation Heavyweight Champion, or if Scuzz or Minnie Lime had walked out of Last Rites the Champ, then Buchanan wouldn’t be railroading them like this.
(Trevor) So that’s how it’s going to be, Buchanan?
(Buchanan) That is exactly how it is going to be, Mister Cunning.
(Trevor) Don’t think for one second that I’m going to hesitate in going to my close, personal friend Hector Gonzales. You can’t do this to me! I have thirty days to defend my title!
(Buchanan) I fully expect you to, Mister Cunning. And when you talk Mister Gonzales, and he tells you that a Foundation Heavyweight Championship defense will send the ratings through the roof… and that close, personal friends or not… in this business, ratings are all that matter… and that close, personal friends or not… my authority is absolute, I expect you to step into that ring and fight your little heart out; career threatening injuries or not.
(Trevor) Then realize this: next week, when I turn your over pushed, handpicked slob into a little pink stain on the mat… his blood’s going to be on your hands. Career threatening injuries or not… Trevor Cunning will be damned if you stop him from walking out of Death Wish with a title belt across each shoulder.
You can trust me on that.
Buchanan turns and walks into the curtain, back towards his office. Cunning stands fuming in the ring, clutching the Foundation Heavyweight Championship over his shoulder ever so tightly.
(Tom) What the hell is Ray Buchanan’s problem?
(JB) He has a business to run, and let’s face it Bear: people will tune in to see Trevor Cunning get his ass kicked.
(Tom) Who the hell would want to see that?
(JB) Our fans, judging from the Vote or Die! results. Besides, if ratings go up, ad revenue goes up, our salaries go up…
(Tom) Damnit, Mann-Chowder. Quit appealing to my greedy side!
(JB) Turns out the reign of Cunning might end before it ever got the chance to begin. Can you say “shortest reigning Foundation Heavyweight Champion ever” Bear?
(Tom) You’re forgetting Groper’s five-minute happy ending; when Kurresh beat him at Ultimate Showdown.
(JB) I’m not forgetting, Bear. I just like to think of Cunning as the loser he’s proven himself to be. Apparently we’ve got something going on in the back...Tyrone Smith, who you fans know as Crazy Boy, has asked for a moment of our time.
A Third Three Wishes?
We cut to the back where we find Tyrone “Crazy Boy” Smith, sitting in his locker room, still a little bummed out about his loss at Last Rites; where he lost the opportunity to do what he wants with the Wish that he and Snake won at Death Wish, the wish slipped out of his hands thanks to a Volleyball. Crazy Boy knows that one of his favorite PPV’s, Death Wish is coming up right around the corner, and with Death Wish comes another opportunity to claim a wish and use it to make Snake’s life a living hell… This would be his third, unprecedented, Three Wishes…
It will be another opportunity for him to gain the Tag Team titles that he so has desired for so long, only there is one problem with the logic.
He has no tag team partner.
(CB) The pennicle of the tag team division is coming up, and I have a slight problem. You see, I have been in the past two Three Wishes matches, the first year, coming just short of grabbing a wish, and the second year we did get a wish, but failed to get the Tag gold. I was thinking that this year, me and Snake would be going into this years Death Wish and kicking it up a notch, and quite possibly get the tag team titles this year. But that isn’t to be. Now, as the spectacle is coming up, I am left with a very sticky situation. I have no partner.
I would like to participate in the Three Wishes match, and that will require me to find a tag team partner, and I guarantee by Three Wishes, I WILL have a tag team partner, and then at Three Wishes we WILL win the Tag Titles… so my search for a tag team partner begins… NOW!
Crazy Boy walks out of the locker room, trying to find who will be the right partner for him, as the show fades to black
Static and fade.
The Super Thomas Brothers (Dusty and Shaun Thomas) vs. Pez and Mickey Line
(JB) Damnit, who let Twitch near the Graphics department?
(Tom) What do you mean?
(JB) This is the Old School Empire…
(Tom) Dustin and Shane Thomas, right.
(JB) Going against Spaz and Mike Lane.
(Tom) Who?
(JB) Spaz and Mike Lane.
(Tom) You must be mistaken, Mann-Chowder… the chryon at the bottom of the monitor clearly says Pez and Mickey Line.
(JB) Every day that I work with you is like taking a hammer blow to the back of the skull.
(Tom) Look, Mann-Wheel, if you’re looking to kill brain cells, it’s probably better just to drink them away… at least it’s more fun. Unless I get to hit you in the back of the skull with the hammer. Then that’s the most fun.
(JB) Sigh…
Old School Empire (Dustin and Shane Thomas) vs. Spaz and Mike Lane
A siren hits the speakers and the word "EMPIRE" appears on the video screen.
(JB) We're coming out the gate strong, ladies and gentlemen.
(Tom) Rare event for you, Vi-Mann-Gra.
The lights flash red and blue, as the camera pans around the arena. Lil' Wayne's "Fireman" starts playing. As the intro continues, the lights flash red to black to blue and back to black as a spot light is focused on the curtain. The song kicks in and Dustin Thomas blows through the entry way, his hand pointed towards the stage. New School points up, and Shane comes out of the curtain, all oiled up and ready to go. The elder brother slaps his chest, and tells the crowd who the man is.
(Tom) Here come my early pick for Three Wishes.
(JB) There are only two teams entered thus far, Bear.
(Tom) These two guys are ready to make an impact, and I think they have all the tools to do it.
Dustin taunts the fans as he walks down the aisle, while Shane takes every opportunity to get in his bodybuilder poses. When he reaches the bottom of the ramp, the Alpha flexes his biceps and points his toe, much to the hatred of the fans. Dustin slides into the ring, and leaps up to the turnbuckle to soak in the jeers. The Alpha hops up the steps, and climbs into the ring. He looks around the arena before stepping between the ropes. Dustin pats him on the back one more time before Shane makes his finale pose in the middle of the ring. He's cut off by the lights going out. Two spotlights begins circling the arena. One is tinted red, and the other gold. They pan around the crowd, and after a few seconds a voice permeates the air.
(JB) But tonight, they have a huge roadblock in their road to Death Wish.
Are you ready...
For a Sugar Rush?
(Tom) What? Those two washed up, hasbe...
BOOOOOOOM!!!!!!!!!!!!!
(Tom) Not again...
Audioslave's "Cochise" hits the speakers as the wall of pyro fades down from the entrance way. Mike Lane and Spaz appear through the curtain, and the crowd goes bananas. The throwback NAFW jersey's (currently being sold at a NAFW Merchandise retailer near you) are both being sported by these two men that many are figuring to represent a bygone era of the company.
(JB) The NAFW Originals, as some have been prone to call them, aren't going to let the Empire show them up.
(Tom) Is that with a "z?"
(JB) What?
(Tom) Well, you can't be a good tag team without a "z" in your name.
Lane and Spaz climb into the ring, and go to opposite corners, getting to their feet, and indulging in the crowd's love. OSE stand in their corner, cutting up
(JB) The Thomas Brothers don't have a "z" in their name.
(Tom) Sure they do, haven't you seen the new corporate branding? They're the Old Zool Empire!
(JB) Ugh, I thought you liked them?
(Tom) Haven't you seen Ghostbusters?
Lane pulls off his jersey, and the two teams have a brief stare down. Lane and Spaz have a quick game of paper-rock-scissors in their corner, which Spaz takes. OSE mock their opponents and do a game of their own. Dustin throws rock, and Shane throws...
(Tom) ATOMIC BOMB!! The legendary Atomic Bomb move in paper-rock-scissors has been unearthed!
(JB) The game isn't called...
(Tom) ATOMIC BOMB!! I haven't seen that one since grade school.
Shane and Spaz move to the center of the ring, and official James Elbourn calls for the bell. The two men lock up, and Spaz gets thrown across the ring. Shane flexes, as the crowd goes right into a "Go Spaz Go" chant. The smaller man teases another lock up, but slips behind the Alpha, and nails a bulldog to bring Shane to the mat, to the fans delight. Shane is right back up though, and he swats away a Spaz dropkick before dropping an elbow on the suddenly horizontal Original. He hoists Spaz up, and throws him into the corner, before following up with a clothesline. He tags in Dustin, and the two lightweight are now in here.
(Tom) I wonder each and every week if someone is going to be able to overpower Shane Thomas. It just never happens.
(JB) Umm... if I reca...
(Tom) Exactly!
Dust sizes Spaz up in the corner, and charges for something, but Spaz nails him with the elbow. The veteran tries to grapple with Dustin, but he gets rewarded with a thumb to the eye, with some reprimands from Elbourn. Spaz is sent to the ropes, and Dustin waits for the rebound before leaping up into a Frankensteiner. However, Spaz puts the breaks on, and they stand with Dust suspended on Sean's shoulders for a moment, before gravity wins out, and Spaz sends the kid down with a powerbomb. The Candy Man drops down, and locks on a side headlock, but Dustin slips out, and moves to his knees, attempting to slap a wristlock of sorts on Spaz.
(Tom) Show em how it's done! Youth over experience!
Spaz slips out of that, and both men move to their feet. Thomas charges, and Spaz delivers the arm drag. Dust charges again, but lands on his feet from the arm drag this time. He charges with the clothesline, but Spaz grabs the arm, and sends Thomas for the corner, charging behind him. Dustin leaps to the top rope, and without thinking, leaps backwards in a backflip that should have put him behind Spaz. However, the Candy Man had put on the breaks, and is now standing behind a befuddled Dustin Thomas.
(JB) Give me experience any day of the week!
Spaz waistlocks Dust, and fires off with the release german suplex, but Dustin lands on his feet. The kid runs, and leaps for another Frankensteiner, but Spaz once again has the counter, this time leapfrogging Dustin into the air. Once again, Dustin shocks the crowd by landing on the turnbuckles. He steadies himself, and leaps out, connecting with a massive crossbody. Spaz is up at two, but the crowd almost shit itself.
(Tom) What day of the week is it again?
Dustin goes up to the top rope again, and signals for the Fireball 450 Splash. Spaz sees the signal, and just leaps for the corner instead of getting in the way of the move. He tags in Lane to yet another massive ovation. Dustin leaps off the top at his former trainer, but Lane catches him, and sends him across the ring with the fallaway slam. He yells out to the crowd, and they pop yet again. Dustin is up, and charges Lane with a clothesline, but the Superstar avoids in, and slaps on a headlock, sinching it in for a moment, but Dustin drops to a knee, and goes low. Lane lets go, and Dust takes Lane down with a bulldog.
(Tom) The student is showing the teacher how it's done.
(JB) We'll see.
Thomas taunts the crowd a bit, but Shane is yelling for his brother to make the tag. Dustin heads for his corner, but Lane has his leg. The younger Thomas Brother is taken down, and he gets paintbrushed a little on the back of the head. Dustin gets up, and is pissed. He charges blindly, and Lane sends him flying with the Degeneration T-Bone Suplex. Dustin goes down, and Lane stomps his foot on the mat once. The crowd is up and ready to go.
(JB) Business is picking up, Bear.
(Tom) Not that damn move.
Dustin crawls towards Lane to prevent the Shadow Kick, but Lane picks him up anyway, and sends him to the ropes. Lane hits his own ropes, and a strange event occurs. Both Shane and Spaz make a blind tag into the match. Spaz, presumably to set up the Sweetsault or the Sugar Rush to put some stank on their victory, and Shane to prevent said stank putting. However, the point is moot, as Dustin baseball slides underneath Lane's Shadow Kick. Spaz charges Dustin, but Shane appears and slaps Spaz in the Alphalock.
(Tom) YES! The Alphalock!!!
Spaz is flailing about in Shane's grasp, while Lane has Dustin attacking him. Lane finally shrugs off Dustin, sending him a few feet away, before firing off with the Shadow Kick. But Dustin once again moves out of the way, sending the Shadow Kick right for Spaz.
(JB) NO!!
(Tom) YES!!!
Sorry Bear, but Lane lowered his foot, but his forward momentum was enough to propel him into the Alphalock. All three men fall into the ropes, and Lane ends up going over the top to the floor. Shane still has the Alphalock on though, but Dustin is yelling at his brother to "let me hit it, bro!" Shane throws Spaz to the corner, and shakes his head. Dustin get on the top turnbuckle, and motions to the crowd.
(Tom) Finally, TNT will never be the same again!
Dustin sets Spaz up, and comes off with a top rope Canadian Destroyer that he likes to call...
(Tom) THE EXECUTOR!!
Spaz's head bounces off the mat, and Shane makes a cover. Dustin baseball slides Lane back to prevent him from running in. Elbourn slides in to make the count. 1......2.....
(Tom) There is a God!
3!!
(JB) I'll be damned!
On Notice
Shane and Dustin are both up and celebrating, but it's shortlived as Mike Lane is storming the ring. He pulls Shane off the top rope, and starts firing off at the Alpha. Dustin comes out of nowhere, and jumps on Lane's back.
(Tom) Sore loser!
Lane tosses Dustin off him, but Shane is able to nail Lane in the small of the back. He picks up the Superstar in a gorilla press, and tosses him to the outside mats facing the exit ramp. Lane is soon joined by Spaz, who was kicked out of the ring by Dustin, who now has a microphone in the center of the ring.
(Dustin) What did we tell you people? We put Mike Lane and Spaz, the NAFW Originals, on Notice, and we just made good on our threats. One-two-three in the middle of the ring, the Old School Empire has just defeated the best this company could put together.
Lane is back to his feet now, and he looks ready to fight some more.
(Dustin) Step back on in here, Mikey. Even your partner couldn't hang with the Empire.
The Alpha grabs the mic.
(Shane) Don't lie to the people, Dust. Spaz held his own in here. If his partner would have backed him up, they might have had a chance.
Lane's eyes go wide, and he hopes up on the apron.
(Dustin) That's why we won. Teamwork. And your lack of it is why you lost. Or maybe it's just you, Mister Superstar. The taint of failure follows you around wherever you go. Or maybe you keep forgetting that you can never win the big one? The one that means something to you, that appeals to your inner competitor. The people surely haven't forgotten.
Lane laughs at the two guys in the ring, and drops back to the floor. He helps Spaz up, and the two men stare down the men in the ring. Dustin turns away from them, to face the camera.
(Dustin) It's pretty simple. Tonight, the Trust Fund Kids and the LAX-itives are gonna face off for a spot in Three Wishes. So let it be made known right here, and right now. The winners of that match are being served notice. They're going to have to contend with the Empire, and as you saw here tonight, we are a cut above the rest. The best damn tag team in the industry.
Shane offers a flex in the background as Dustin raises a fist in the air.
(Dustin) So all you little people can stand up and clap as the soon to be Foundation Tag Team Champions leave their ring!
Dustin drops the mic, and he and Shane head out the ring, taking the steel stairs down to the floor. As they walk by the Originals, they smirk in their faces, while Lane just glowers. Spaz watches them walk up the ramp, and shakes his head before walking up after them.
(JB) Ladies and gentlemen, I don't know what to think about what we just saw.
(Tom) We just saw the best tag team in the business leave their ring, or weren't you paying attention?
(JB) That remains to be seen, but they just went a long way towards proving that point here tonight.
COMMERCIAL~!
The Platinum Prognostication
We go to the back where Vanessa is standing by and next to her, the same hooded figure hopping from side to side. He's got on a pair of black fingerless gloves and a black hoodie over his face. Vanessa simply sneers into the camera as she listens to the boos from the packed house in San Antonio.
(Vanessa) There are those who would view Last Rites as nothing short of an abject failure. Bishop lost and The Reaper, amidst my best attempts otherwise, was victorious. So despite having my head put through a television screen, all I got to show for it was...
She stops briefly, shaking her head as she holds up her hands and feigns some semblance of disappointment.
(Vanessa) Well...a lot. You see, there are some who are probably wondering why I decided to lay a few choice shots in on Bishop instead of The Reaper. I mean, after all, it was The Reaper who put my lovely face through a television set. It was The Reaper who dropped me face first on the floor after the fact, was it not?
The crowd roars in approval.
(Vanessa) Well, as I warned him prior to Last Rites, that wasn't my ace in the hole.
She points to the behemoth next to her who hasn't stopped hopping from side to side.
(Vanessa) THIS...is my ace. A Platinum coated ace nonetheless, but I figured if you want to get to the man himself, you find those closest to him that have absolutely nothing to lose. You see L, this is far from over between us. You humiliated me and that's something you know I won't tolerate. But all of you out there seem to believe that this is about petty vengeance. A jilted lover trying to extract some type of revenge against the one who smited her and it's far greater than that.
A coy grin creases those lips of hers as she lets out a rather condescending chuckle.
(Vanessa) Just trust me when I tell you that tonight, phase 2 of the masterplan goes into effect. Phase 1, all six foot five, three hundred and three pounds of him came into the picture at Last Rites. But that's just the tip of the iceberg. When Death Wish rolls around, believe me, it's all gonna come into focus for all of you.
Wink.
(Vanessa) You'll see. Let's go.
As she taps him on his chest, the hooded guy lets out a huge, gutteral roar as the camera gets a shot of something on the back of his hoodie. That something is the head of the Juggernaut, only it's in solid platinum. This is the last thing seen as we fade back to ringside.
(JB) What the hell was that?
(Tom) Weren’t you paying attention, Mann-Wagon? It’s Vanessa’s trump card!
(JB) Was that even human?
(Tom) Obviously. Just because he looks like Destro from G.I. Joe doesn’t make him any less human that you or I.
(JB) Let’s take it back to the ring.
Scott Rocker vs. Heatwave
(Tom) I can’t wait, Mann-Hole! I just can’t wait!
(JB) It’s not Christmas.
(Tom) Nope.
(JB) It’s not St. Patrick’s Day.
(Tom) Nope.
(JB) What then, Bear, is it free happy ending day at the Asian massage parlor?
(Tom) That’s tomorrow, Mann-Wheel… but that’s not why I’m excited.
(JB) Then why, pre tell, is your heart all a twitter like a school girl reading Tiger Beat magazine?
(Tom) Scott Rocker has returned!
(JB) We haven’t seen either Scott Rocker or VYC since Chang stepped out of retirement to put Rocker in his place at Ultimate Showdown.
(Tom) Wait, what do you mean put Scott Rocker in his place?
(JB) Rocker called out VYC. VYC pinned him one, two, three. Both men have been conspicuous by their absence ever since.
(Tom) Now that you mention it, Mann-Wagon, I am a little nervous about Scott Rocker. Usually, he flies on the scene like a majestic, burning phoenix, rising from the ashes on a fiery Viking steed wielding a lightning axe with a thunderbolt handle…
(JB) but now he just looks like an obnoxious nineteen year old who smokes a little too much weed.
(Tom) How dare you!
GANSTA' GRILLZ!
(Tom) Heatwave? Honestly? He thinks that he can stand up to the Rock of Ages?
(JB) Heatwave is an up and coming Superstar, Bear.
(Tom) I mean, the guy lost to Andy Freakin’ D for Gord’s sake!
(JB) Well, now Heatwave is at where he is most dangerous: when he has something to prove.
A red spotlight appears at the top of the ramp and the lights dim slightly. "Air Force Ones" by Young Jeezy is pushed through the speakers. Through the curtain the Madman from Miami known as Heatwave step out in a pair of Nike jogging pants and gloved fists. to a cheering oviation as he makes his way towards the ring with the red spotlight following his trail. Making his way inside of the ring, the light are brought back up as Heatwave hops onto the nearby turnbuckle, throwing his gloved fists into the air. He hops down heading towards the opposite turnbuckle as a wave of flash bulbs come over him. He hops down, taking a post on the turnbuckle waiting for his rival to make his way down the ring.
(Tom) Here we are fans, mere minutes away from the arrival of the one, the only, Scott Rocker!
(JB) When did you become the play by play guy?
STOMP STOMP CLAP!
STOMP STOMP CLAP!
(Tom) I think I just popped a rock boner!
(JB) Wait, what?!?
(Tom) The docile, flaccid rock gland nestled deep within my soul has become turgid and majestic!
(JB) Wait… Yes. I just threw up in my mouth a little.
(Tom) Did you swallow it, Mann-Hole?
(JB) Why Bear?
(Tom) I just wanted to see if that ran in the family too.
Now the crowd gets into this and starts singing the words to Queen's "We Will Rock You." This finally draws out the one, and the only... SCOTT ROCKER!
(Tom) I feel like a little girl on the Ed Sullivan Show when the Beatles first came out… or Elvis.
(JB) There is so much not kosher with that statement, that I have no desire to even try to delve deeper into that, for fear of letting forth from your obviously damaged psyche either tears or a newfound interest in wearing women’s underpants.
(Tom) What do you mean, newfound?
As he steps out onto stage the classic guitar riff of the song kicks in as the crowd still stomps and claps away. Scott Rocker is fitted in his black leather pants, cut off jean jacket with nothing on underneath it, and of course his American flag bandana around his long greasy hair. Scott Rocker pumps his fist in the air a few times to a mixed reaction, as the crowd is probably having a better time singing We Will Rock You than actually cheering for Scott Rocker. He then proceeds to make his way down the ramp like a total badass.
(JB) And yet you make fun of Diamond Del Carver for his choice of attire?
(Tom) Carver’s old. Scott Rocker is the new face of Rock and Roll!
At this time, Scott Rocker has made his way into the ring, and after posing in his power stance, he grabs a microphone and prepares to address the crowd… but before he can it’s an attack Heatwave… ZOMG~!!!!!!!
(Tom) That was one hell of a cheap shot!
(JB) Since when do you complain about cheap shots?
(Tom) Touché, Mann-Wagon. Touché.
Heatwave clubs Rocker across the back, before kicking him in the chest to bring him back upright, and then starts using his fists to bring Scott Rocker back towards the ropes. Not one, not two, but three chops to Rocker’s exposed chest.
(JB) Those gloves that Heatwave wears are only adding to the force on those chops. It’s like he’s whipping Rocker across the chest with… well, a whip.
(Tom) Clever.
(JB) I’d like to see you try and add some insight, Bear.
(Tom) Did you ever notice that touché sounds an awful lot like tushy?
(JB) No, Bear, I didn’t.
(Tom) It’s like I’m saying Butt, Mann-Wagon, Butt.
(JB) Lord Jesus, take me now.
(Tom) Please?
Heatwave irish-whips Rocker across the ring, but lowers his head too soon on the return, allowing Scott to kick him right in the nose. When Heatwave raises hands to his nose to guard his face, Rocker steps in and hits a beautiful uranage!
(Tom) Rocker Bottom! ROCKER BOTTOM!
(JB) This could be it… wait, why isn’t Scott Rocker covering Heatwave?
(Tom) Because the Rocker Bottom is the most rockifying maneuver in sports entertainment, Mann-Wheel. Please.
Rocker climbs onto the second rope and immediately begins taunting the crowd, raising his arms and playing air guitar.
(Tom) GUITAR SOLO!!!!!
(JB) I have a Masters Degree in Broadcasting and Communications. I was going to be on Sports Center…
Before Rocker can reach the bridge… or well, nearly immediately after he climbs onto the middle rope, Heatwave just pops right back to his feet. With Rocker on the second rope, Heatwave steps in backwards, cupping Rocker under his armpits. He then tosses Rocker across the ring.
(JB) That was one hell of a crucifix powerbomb!
(Tom) Rock and Roll is not dead! Get up Rocker!
Rocker, folded up like a pair of GAP Khakis, rolls backwards and stumbles to the center of the ring. A running lariat leads to a second, and then Heatwave hits the ropes, only to hit a flying shoulder tackle on the way back down. Rocker sells this like he’s been shot.
Heatwave pulls Rocker to his feet, irish-whips him across the ring, and hits an overhead, double leg spinebuster.
(JB) Oh, the Backdraft Drop… this has got to be it!
(Tom) One… Two… Thank the Gods of Rock he kicked out.
Heatwave begins posing for the crowd, getting them fired up and rallying them behind him. He then positions Scott Rocker for the Inferno, only for Rocker to elbow out and hit the ropes running.
(Tom) Look at the resiliency, look at the heart, look at the…
(JB) Spot on the canvas?
(Tom) Where the hell did the Inferno come from? Damnit!
That’s right. He hit it when you weren’t paying attention. Were you looking at internet pornography, or maybe speaking to a loved one? Maybe you were looking at internet pornography with a loved one. Regardless, on the return across the ring, Heatwave kneed Scott Rocker in the gut, doubling him over, and then immediately wrapped him up, using the momentum from the kneelift to propel Rocker over into a sickening Exploder Suplex.
The three count is academic.
Heatwave climbs the turnbuckle to pose as Young Jeezy’s “Air Force Ones” hits the P.A.
(JB) An impressive victory for Heatwave.
(Tom) I still won’t care about him until he can beat Andy D.
(JB) Must you be so Jaded.
(Tom) Like Caruso, Mann-Hole. Or one of those weird Chinese elephant statutes that are all the rage with the kids these days.
(JB) Just how out of touch are you?
(Tom) Let’s just put it this way… very.
(JB) We’ll take you now to the back, where Amie Carmichael is standing by with the Reaper, Leonard Aarons. Amie?
Gospel Time
(Carmichael) Thanks, J.B.. I'm standing by outside of the locker room of one Leonard Aarons, who in a few moments will go face to face with Crazy Boy...
The door opens as Amie's interrupted by The Reaper who enters the hallway in his ring attire and carrying roses if you can believe that. The Reaper hands them to her, bowing rather modestly in front of her as she takes them a bit surprised by the gift.
(Reaper) My humblest apologies for the way I treated you at Last Rites. I was wrong and it was conduct unbecoming of a future Foundation Heavyweight Champion such as myself.
(Tom) What a fruit!
(JB) Hush.
(Tom) Not Hush, the Reaper.
(Carmichael) I...uh...okay, I accept your apology. Now as for tonight, you step into the ring with one half of the tag team formerly known as the Wild Boys, namely Crazy Boy.
Aarons simply smirks as this is probably the first time he's cut a promo without his hood over his head. The roses are placed on the ground by Carmichael as Aarons strokes his chiseled chin rather methodically.
(Reaper) Well, I have heard a ton from this character they seem to call Crazy Boy. I even went as far as to watch his promo this week and I must say Amie, I was a bit hurt by his remarks.
(Carmichael) Hurt?
(Reaper) Yeah. I mean, here's a guy who just lost his wish and he's on the eve of facing me, a man who singlehandedly dismantled and flat out devastated Dwayne Bishop in the first ever Doddtown Street Fight at Last Rites. Yet, I'm very troubled by how easily this man decided to overlook me to get his hands on Snake and Wilson. Not a very original name for a weapon by the by. Lacks that whole thing which makes things stand out such as...
Beat.
(Reaper) The Lendo Stick. Now that's a weapon that stands out as something you can mark out for. But who really cares about a volleyball with a painted handprint on it?
(Carmichael) Crazy Boy, that's who.
(Reaper) Exactamundo, Amie. So tonight Crazy Boy, know that while I probably know better than you realize what a beating from an angry, frustrated crazy person...you're stepping into the ring with a hungry, driven Devastator with one thing on his mind. And believe me when I tell ya, it's not some fruitbooty walking around with a mask and carrying a volleyball. It's becoming the new Foundation Heavyweight Champion and sending a crystal clear message to Trevor Corleone that he can't hide from The Reaper forever.
(Carmichael) Uh, that's Cunning, not Corleone.
(Reaper) You sure? Cause I heard he's The Godfather, so I guess...ah screw it. How's about we just call him the 12 Steps Guy? Cause I hear he's best friends with Jack Daniels and his favorite flower is Wild Irish Rose.
The crowd lets out a collective ooh at the remarks made by Aarons as he smirks rather arrogantly into the camera.
(Reaper) Crazy Boy, I don't really have much of a grievance with you as a person. It just so happens that you're the unfortunate guy who got put into my path at the worst possible time. So the best piece of advice I can give you tonight is this. Remember the gospel I spoke to you in my promo earlier this week. But in case your memory doesn't go back that far, try this on for size. Put your head between your legs and get ready to...
He rolls his neck around in a circle as he closes his eyes, feeding off of the packed crowd as we hear the crowd say in unison with Aarons...
(Reaper) FEEL...MY...WRATH!!!
Just as he starts to walk off, Carmichael tries to get out one final question.
(Carmichael) Do you have any thoughts on Vanessa's comments earlier this evening and her Platinum Ace in the Hole?
The Reaper stops in his tracks, in mid stride no less and spins on his heel seamlessly. He stands to the left of Amie, flipping up his hood with a rather inquisitive look on his face.
(Reaper) Did you say...Platinum...Ace in the Hole?
Amie nods.
(Carmichael) She referred to him as a platinum coated Ace in the Hole.
The Reaper smiles.
(Reaper) I think...she's in for a rude awakening if she's thinking he's gonna work any better than Bishop.
(Carmichael) Aren't you the least bit concerned that he might make his presence known in your match against Crazy Boy?
(Reaper) No. But if he does, it's cool by me. I'll handle him, same way I did way back when. Ciao.
The Reaper flips up his hood and heads off in preparation for his match with Crazy Boy.
(JB) Ladies and Gentlement, we have that match coming up next!
(Tom) Good, then I get to go to the bathroom and get some nachos. Do you want anything?
(JB) No.
(Tom) Ice cream? Gummy Bears?
(JB) I’m good, Bear.
(Tom) Hot dog? Popcorn? Steak and Cheese?
(JB) I’m all set.
(Tom) You don’t want anything?
(JB) I want to go to…
COMMERCIAL~!
(JB) Welcome back to Annihilation folks. We’ll take you to the ring in just a moment, but right now, there appears to be an incident taking place in the back.
(Tom) Oooh an incident! I hope it’s international. Those are the best kind!
Denied!
Cut to backstage.
We come around a corner, to hear a voice hollering inside a room.
(Lewis) Wait! You’re not listening to me, Ray!
(JB) What the hell is Lewis doing in Buchanan’s office?
(Tom) Easy. He’s trying to get Buchanan to give him Jack Flint’s Mom’s address.
(JB) Do you ever have a sane response to anything?
(Tom) Purple Kitten Cookie Monster Dishwasher.
(JB) Right.
And Lewis is being escorted out of the door of Buchanan’s office by three much larger security guards, dressed in black suits. Lewis gets pushed into the opposite wall, jarring him a bit.
(Lewis) Easy, bitch. I was just trying to talk to him.
(Tom) Why are they treating Lewis like that? He’s a staple in NAFW history!
(JB) You mean the bent, deformed staple that sticks out of a magazine and digs into your skin when you least expect it?
(Tom) I don’t get it.
(JB) Lewis is nothing but a pissed off never-has-been! He’s a nuisance! What does he want with the NAFW?
(Lewis) You’re gonna regret turning me down, Buchanan. I always get what I want!
The security continues escorting him through the building, as they head down hallways to the parking lot.
(Lewis) You know, I know the way out. I did use to WORK for this company! You don’t have to follow me out the building.
(Guard) Well, Mr. Buchanan told us to make sure you knew, just in case you decided to forget and get lost down at the ring.
(Lewis) The ring? Why would I end up there? Look…
Lewis walks out the Exit Door that leaves him on the outside of the Parking Lot, outside of the AT&T Center.
(Lewis) I’m outside now, alright? Assholes.
Lewis smirks, turning around and heading off into another direction as the camera turns back to the door, which the security guards lock and bolt.
We cut back to ringside with JB and The Bear.
(JB) Well, that was reassuring, until Lewis smiled.
(Tom) What do you expect? He’s got to be optimistic. He’s a successful superstar.
(JB) I tell you one thing, Tom. That little snaky bastard is far from done. He’s got something up his sleeve and I don’t like that feeling.
(Tom) Well, we’ll see!
The Reaper Leonard Aarons vs. Crazy Boy
(JB) What we’ll see next is The Reaper Leonard Aarons taking on the NAFW’s Tag Team Specialist: Crazy Boy
(Tom) What makes him a specialist? He’s never been a Tag Champ.
(JB) He’s spent the majority of his career in a Tag Team Situation. The Wild Boys lasted for years…
(Tom) Tag Team Specialist… it’s what hack announcers like you call perennial midcarders.
(JB) Crazy Boy has won the U.S., Intercontinental and X-Treme Titles.
(Tom) But he’s a Tag Team Specialist… right…….
"Fully Alive" by Flyleaf hits the PA as the lights dim and then flicker out. Strobe lights flicker on as smoke fills the entryway and the ramp. All the sudden, a figure comes out from the back and stands in the smoke, right fist pumped up in the air. The strobe lights make the figure seem like it is blinking as the figure cuts through the smoke. The crowd cheers as it is NAFW's very own psycho, Crazy Boy. CB walks down the ramp, adknowledging the crowd as he slides under the bottom ropes. The lights flicker back on as CB pumps his fist in the air, runs around off the ropes and then turns, and waits for his opponent to come.
(Tom) Have you ever noticed that he never really does anything too crazy?
(JB) It’s a subtle insanity.
(Tom) Otherwise known as functional retardation.
(JB) Well that’s not P.C..
(Tom) You’re right, Mann-itoba. I apologize to all the functional retards. You’ve got a leg up on Tyrone here.
The lights dim as we hear a Lion's roar throughout the arena. Three huge pyros bring the lights back on as the arena is flooded with strobing gold and crimson lights as "Tha Realist Killaz" by 2 Pac w/50 Cent is pumped over the speakers. As dry fog starts to emanate from the entranceway, The Reaper comes out wearing a black sleeveless hoodie with his trademark bloodied Lion's head on the back with two Reaper like staffs crossbone style underneath it.
(JB) The Reaper has been on one hell of a role as of late.
(Tom) That may be so, but I still don’t know what in the hell makes him think that he’s anywhere near Trevor Cunning’s level.
(JB) Well, his impressive victory over Dwayne Bishop at Last Rites for one.
(Tom) Are you crapping me, Mann-Wagon? I could beat Dwayne Bishop.
(JB) Really?
(Tom) Sure. Checkers, Miniature Golf. Wii Tennis… He’d be my bitch.
Aarons proceeds to walk down the aisle as he stops midway as he points skyward with three fingers extended before he quickly brings his right arm down to his throat making a slow cutthroat motion before spreading his arms wide as he yells, setting off a wall of solid gold pyro which covers the entranceway. Aarons then proceeds to charge toward the ring sliding in under the bottom rope as he gets to his feet, walking to the far right corner as he sits down. He sits staring at the entranceway before getting to his feet very quickly as he takes off his hoodie as he flings it into the crowd and prepares for his match looking focused as usual.
(JB) The fans are solidly behind the Reaper, despite Crazy being a fan favorite as well.
(Tom) I highly doubt that Crazy Boy is one of anyone’s favorites.
Beginning Summary: The match begins and stays fairly even back and forth with Reapers playing heavily into the crowd with his signature taunts. He hits his signature moves until Crazy Boy nails a Crazy Slam and Vanessa makes her way down to the ring and onto the apron.
(JB) Would you get Vanessa off of the apron?
(Tom) Why?
(JB) She’s distracting the referee!
(Tom) But I can see up her skirt from here!
(JB) Really?
(Tom) Aha! I always knew you were as perverted as I am.
The Reaper slowly gets back to his feet, only to be intercepted by one Tyrone Smith. Tyrone starts tossing meaty fists into Aaron’s skull, smacking him against the ropes. The Reaper somehow manages to battle back, knocking him towards the center of the ring
(JB) Now the large, metal-headed guy… Vanessa’s flunky…
(Tom) Destro?
(JB) He’s getting in the ring and going straight for the Reaper!
Vanessa’s “Ace in the Hole” climbs into the ring, and charges at the Reaper. Aarons however, can sense his approach, and drops to the mat. The Burning Lariat intended for the back of the Reaper’s skull instead connects with Tyrone Smith, flipping the much smaller man three hundred and sixty degrees in the air, and nearly taking his head off.
(Tom) Aarons is so lucky that Clothesline from Hell didn’t connect.
(JB) You’re not kidding, Bear. I can’t imagine the force that man’s lariat must have behind it.
(Tom) It’s a simple physics equation, Mann-Wheel. Just take mass and multiply it by velocity and…
(JB) Since when did you become an intellectual?
(Tom) Oh. Right. Boobs.
The hooded, metal man turns and heads back to finish off the Reaper. With Aarons lying against the top rope, he charges in, only for the Reaper to fall to the mat once more, allowing the big man to fly over the top rope, his momentum sending him to the floor.
(JB) Vanessa can’t be happy about that!
(Tom) As long as she stays up on that apron, Mann-Chowder, I don’t give a damn about her demeanor.
Vanessa finally steps down off of the apron, leaving Aarons and Crazy Boy both lying prone on the mat. The Reaper kips up, to a chorus of enthusiastic applause.
Vanessa starts chasing after the Platinum skulled assailant, who’s skulking back up the ramp, pouting and throwing a fit. Aarons grabs Crazy Boy, tosses him up into a fireman’s carry position, points at Vanessa on the ramp, and then drops Crazy with the Reaper’s Wrath!
(Tom) Throw this match out! He had help!
(JB) The Reaper only moved out of harm’s way, Bear.
(Tom) I’m beginning to think this is entirely a set up… that these three are in cahoots! Cahoots I say!
With his hands on Crazy’s chest, the Reaper presses up and sticks his tongue out, snarling at Vanessa and her associate. He gets the three count.
(JB) I’m sure that they’re in cahoots, Bear… what with the blood, and the glass, and the street fights.
(Tom) This is all an intricate plot to not only injure Dwayne Bishop, but take over the government of a small, European country that splintered off the former Soviet Union!
(JB) You’ve been reading a lot of conspiracy novels again, haven’t you?
(Tom) No, just watching Oliver Stone movies.
(JB) Great.
(Tom) Nine-Eleven was organized by the government!
(JB) On that note, we’ll head to the back, where John Mills is with Creeping Death, Mike Castleberry. John?
Countdown to Greatness
The camera cuts backstage of the At&T center, John Mills stands outside of a locker room, straightening his light blue, long sleeved shirt a bit before knocking at the door, microphone at hand. At first there is no reply, so John, undeterred knocks again, this time a little louder. In midknock, the door opens, Mike Castleberry standing stone faced in his wrestling gear as John's fist hovers in mid-air, mere inches from Casteberry's face, frozen in mid-knock. The two stare at each other for a moment as John clears his throat, lowerwing his hand and raising his microphone.
(MC) What do you want John?
Castleberry steps all the way out of the door, intimidating the smaller man a bit as he stands in front of him. John composes himself, and begins
(John)Well Mike, I wanted to congratulate you on your recovery first and foremost, but right now I think I, and the fans want to know how you feel, and what your thoughts are on tonights match against Dan Stein.
Mike grins a bit, then speaks into the microphone
(MC)Well John, thanks for the kind words, that's actually pretty big of you, considering our past has been a little checkered, what with the leg incident and all, but thanks anyway, I mean it.
John winces a bit at the thought of the long ago incient where Catleberry broke his leg in an altercation, then composes himself again
(John)Well.... that notwithstanding, congrats once again, now, back to your match.
(MC) Allright, allright. Ok, I have a big comeback match tonight against Dan Stein, a man who apparanently some have dubbed "The best cruiserweight in the busines" I guess you can call yourself anything these days, and that makes it true. Let me try that for myself...
He clears his throat before speaking again
(MC)Ok, here it goes....
Hi Mr.Stein, I'm Mr.Rogers.....
Wait a minute, i'm still myself... and I want to put my foot up your ass, hmmm... I guess that calling yourself something DOESN'T make it true, does it.
Listen kid, you got a lot of spirit, and you're all full of piss and vinegar, and in a way, I respect that, I really do, but, you have the problem of trying to make a name around here, by taking me out, and that's just not gonna fly. You see, I'm not about to lay down for you buddy, and I sure as hell don't plan on being your stepping stone into the big time. You're gonna have to wait for another day on that one son. You talk a good game, like to call a guy who hasn't even hit 30 yet washed up, and an old man, and fail to realise I'm in my prime, and I plan on making an example of you tonight, and make you eat a few of your words. All I can say is that tonight, here in San Antonio, it's going to be lights out, for the lights and you, my friend, will be the first, in the NAFW, to take your last breath.
Castleberry turns and heads back into his locker room to prep for his match, as the camera fades out
Apology
The arena crowd pops as we cut to a shot of Spaz standing in his locker room. Twitch is pacing in front of him.
(Twitch) Twitch is appalled by the way that the Super Thomas Bros. disrespected Line and Pez.
Spaz opens his mouth to respond, but the door swings open. The crowd pops again as Mike Lane walks in. He claps Twitch on the shoulder, and looks over at Spaz.
(Lane) How ya doin?
A shrug from Spaz.
(Spaz) I've been beaten up worse than those guys can do.
Mike nods, and his expression turns serious.
(Lane) Look man, I just wanted to apologize for letting the team down out there. For letting you down.
(Spaz) What are you talking about? Did you let Dustin Thomas get in your head? He's trying to psych you out. It's just one of those wrestling things.
(Lane) Nah man, I shouldn't have went for the Shadow Kick. It was more important for me to make the save for you, the legal man. I let my emotions get the best of me.
Twitch looks at both of them like they're crazy.
(Twitch) Twitch still thinks Micky Line is an asshole, and Pez too, but they are better than those two guys who they faced tonight.
Spaz points his thumb at Twitch.
(Spaz) For once, this guy's right. We'll show em how it's done during Three Wishes. Maybe we'll even get to face off with Cunning and Owens.
Lane stops for a moment, and a smile crosses his face.
(Lane) You know something, Sean, you're right. We'll show em at Three Wishes.
He claps his partner on the shoulder, and heads out of the room. As the door closes, Twitch looks over at Spaz.
(Twitch) Micky Line was cooler when he wore his tunic.
Spaz shakes his head at his manager, and reaches into his gym bag, rummaging around for something to fix a headache.
Dan Stein vs. “Creeping Death” Mike Castleberry
The lights cut. The arena goes black. The fans buzz in anticipation. The megatron flashes gold quickly, then go blank again. A second passes, and two pyro rockets shoot off from the stage in an 'x' fashion. Then, the megatron flashes gold again, and the words 'The Lights' remain up. 'Apocalypse Please' by Muse begins to play as Dan Stein walks out from the backstage area, then jogs down to the ring.
The lights cut out in the arena, bathing it in darkness, the only lighting is from a few camera flashes. Suddenly, a guitar riff pierces the air over the PA, blue lights flashing at the entryway, revealing Castleberry standing, his arms folded, staring at the ring, a look of fierce determination on his face. The crowd cheers as he stands, surveying his surroundings. The first verse of Megadeth's "Die Dead Enough" plays, as Castleberry starts his march down to the ring as the chorus picks up. He hops into the ring, as the lights go back on in the arena, waiting is his corner for the opening bell, the chorus playing again, fading out.
MATCH SUMMARY: The contest is close with Stein using an MMA style of attack while Castleberry seems to be shaking off ring rust, but Dan Stein is disqualified by the official for refusing to release an illegal MMA choke hold after a 5 count. Castleberry picks up the win although he is left lying post-match from a frustrated Stein.
COMMERCIAL~!
Trust is Important, Right?
We cut to the back, specifically entering the Trust Fund Kids’ locker room. As we arrive, we find Keith Owens, lacing up his boots for the… ahem… match with the newly christened LAX-itives. The former Foundation Heavyweight Champion has a somber, determined look on his face. Owens has not worn gold since the NAFW re-opened, and barring being named the number one contender by Commissioner Ray Buchanan, qualifying for Three Wishes is his next best shot at a big, gold belt.
The locker room door swings open, and in comes Owens’ friend and partner, the current Foundation Heavyweight Champion: Trevor Cunning.
(Trevor) Keith, we have a problem.
(Keith) Did you get too loaded to wrestle tonight?
(Trevor) Real funny, wiseass. You know as well as I do that there’s no such thing as being too loaded.
(Keith) Whatever. Just remember: I’m not cleaning up after you again.
Cunning runs his free hand over his face, shakes his jowls, and goes to take a swig of Jack, before looking at Owens and thinking better of it.
(Trevor) Would you be serious for a change, man? I have to defend the Foundation Heavyweight Championship next week.
Owens has yet to look up at Cunning, meticulously lacing his boots, taking an almost needless amount of time to string each side
(Keith) I fail to see how that’s my problem.
Cunning steps forward, lifts Owens chin, and looks him square in the eye. The moment Cunning does this, Owens stands up in defensive mode.
(Trevor) So that’s how it’s going to be, Keith?
Owens breaks out laughing, guffawing so hysterically that tears emanate forth from his eyes. Cunning takes a swig from his bottle of Jack and sits down on the bench.
(Keith) Hah. God you’re gullible.
(Trevor) This is serious, dude. You know that I’m serious about Three Wishes, and there’s nothing more I want then to win those Tag Team Titles, and finally win some gold for you, but if I go out there… you know that I’m going to do everything I damn well can to keep this belt with the Trust Fund Kids. I might not be in my peak competitive shape.
Owens pats Cunning on the beer gut.
(Keith) Dude, when was the last time you were in peak competitive shape, high school?
(Trevor) Keith, please.
(Keith) Look at it this way, when you have to defend against me, the obvious choice for number one contender, you won’t to try very hard to keep the belt with the Trust Fund Kids… and then we can roll into Three Wishes and…
(Trevor) Wait a second. What exactly are you going to do if Buchanan makes you the number one contender?
(Keith) Simple, buddy. I’m going to do the right thing.
(JB) Since when has Keith Owens ever done the right thing?
(Tom) Shhh… Mann-Chowder, I’m trying to listen.
(Trevor) What do you mean, “You’re going to do the right thing?”
(Keith) I’m going to make sure the belt stays where it belongs: with the Trust Fund Kids.
Keith walks out of the locker room, leaving Cunning sitting on the bench alone. The Foundation Heavyweight Champion looks at his bottle of Jack, puts it down on the floor, and heads to his locker to start putting his gear on. We cut back to the arena.
(JB) Do I feel a little dissention in the ranks?
(Tom) Nah. I’d be willing to bet that it’s just indigestion.
(JB) What?
(Tom) You had clams for dinner, right?
(JB) I was talking about the Trust Fund Kids.
(Tom) Oh, well, they’re all good. No worries.
Snake (w/ Wilson) vs. Andy D.
The Arena lights go down as the 'Ace' Signature logo appears on screen. A large '1' is spray panted over the top before Keep Yourself Alive II kicks in over the PA. Andy comes out and heads towards the ring, hand slapping a couple of the audience along the way. Andy climbs into the ring and heads to his turnbuckle, flipping his bucket hat off his head and placing on the metal part of the turnbuckle. He takes off his shades and places them on the hat before turning around ready for the match.
If you're feelin' it when I drop this
“Rawkfist” by Thousand Foot Krutch hits the PA system before Snake comes out from the back to the disgust of the crowd. He's got Wilson under his right arm. Snake starts to make his way down the ramp and when the first verse comes to an end, Snake sets Wilson on the ground and throws his hands up above his head allowing two large green fireworks to go off behind him. Snake then picks up Wilson and makes his way to the ring, stepping away from some random fans who dare to touch him, before climbing into the ring.
Match Summary: Snake uses Wilson as an illegal weapon while the referee has his back turned and manages to roll up Andy D with a fistful of tights in the confusion of being hit with a volleyball. The referee does not notice this and the victory goes to Snake.
Snake in the Grass
Snake attacks Andy D after the bell, switching off between stomping him and throwing Wilson at his face. After a couple of minutes and repeated ringing of the bell, Crazy Boy runs down to the ring and makes the save for Andy D, running Snake and Wilson off.
Hush Exclusive?
(JB) Folks, this last weekend, at Last Rites, we witnessed a heroic title defense in the form of the Atlantic Champion, Mike Stryker, taking on the monsterous Hush, on-on-one.
(Tom) If you're going to roll a clip montage, I'm going to sit here and text message your mother.
(JB) God no, it's going to cost me 15 cents a text!
(Tom): You might want to avoid looking at your phone bill this month then, Mann-wich.
(JB): ...Well fortunately for you, the replay from the Pay Per View has been deemed to graphic to air at this time, and the network executives have pulled the exclusive interview with Hush from airing live as well.
(Tom) So you mean Mark Harriot is in a dungeon with Hush somewhere, all for nothing?
(JB) I’m sure TheNAFW.Com will bring you the exclusive footage later this week.
Charles Johnson vs. Sebastian Hawke
Last Rites Rematch.
“Miseria Cantare” by AFI slowly fades onto the arena’s sound system. The low music continues to play as various pictures, and small clips of Johnson’s career flashes over the Tron. When the first bit of vocals are heard, Charles walks out on the ramp looking down at the ring. Making his way down to the ring he walks up the ring steps, and into the ring. Bouncing around the ring before focusing in on the match ahead. The last big of the song fades as he awaits the bell.
"I'm The One" begins blasting out the speakers of the NAFW-Tron, as Sebastian Hawke walks out onto the stage, underneath the NAFW-Tron itself. He adjusts his wrist tape before looking out to the crowd. He slowly walks down the ramp to the ring, staring at the ring as he does. He passes by a few fans, who are waving their hands at him trying to get a high-five, but he ignores them, as he walks down to the ring. He comes up to the apron, walking over to the stairs and escalating them. He walks along the apron, facing the crowd as he stares out at them, before turning around to get into the ring.
Match Summary: Sebastian and Charles go at it in another strong contest, however Hawke seems to be gaining the dominant upper hand towards the end over “The Businessman” and picks up the win with “The Recoil.”
Be Careful What You Wish For
Desyree comes down to the ring, gets in Hawke's face. She slaps him and taunts him. Lewis sneaks out from underneath the ring apron and comes up from behind, hitting Hawke from behind with a chair. Hawke no-sells and turns around all pissed to hell and they start going blow for blow. After a minute, Ryan McJohnson and his security team comes and separates the two, escorting Lewis and Desyree out of the building.
A Favor Repaid
We cut to the back to find Tyrone “Crazy Boy” Smith and Andy D. walking down the hallway towards the locker rooms. Andy is still holding the back of his skull after the brutal post-match attack by the increasingly violent, increasingly crazy Snake. Crazy Boy still wields a steel chair waiting for his former partner Snake to ambush at any moment. Only when they turn a corner, do they realize the coast is clear.
(Andy D) Hey, thanks for the help back there.
(CB) No problem. Snake has really gone too far this time. I will make sure he will be dealt with soon enough. I will not stop until he is nothing but a blood stain under my shoe.
(Tom) Well, that’s a little excessive.
(JB) Hush.
(Tom) At times, he can be, but I was talking about Crazy Boy.
(JB) No. I’m not making a Shaft reference.
(Tom) C’mon!
(Andy D) Seriously though, you saved my neck, ass and other limbs and vital organs. I owe you one. And I'll pay it back sometime, guaranteed.
That got the gears working in Tyrone’s brain.
(CB) So you want to pay me back, eh? I think I know how you can do it. I still want to compete in my unprecedented third Three Wishes, but I don’t have a partner. So how about you team up with me, become tag team partners… and we qualify for Three Wishes?
Andy's blank expression betrays his contemplation of the ofer, before he just shrugs his shoulders.
(Andy D) Sure, whatever, sounds good. If it's how to pay you back then lets do it.
(Tom) That was rather non-chalant.
(JB) Andy D. is rather non-chalant.
(Tom) Doesn’t he realize the danger of Three Wishes, the tables, ladders and chairs?
(JB) I don’t think Andy D. cares. I also think Andy D. wants to help Crazy Boy get back at Snake.
(Tom) I think what you think is stupid.
CB grins from ear to ear, knowing now that his search is now complete.
A new tag team has been born.
COMMERCIAL~!
(JB) Alright folks, it’s time for our Main Event and you know what that means…
(Tom) Oh dear God, no.
(Kramer) HELLLOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!
(Tom) Seriously? This jackass again?
(Kramer) You don’t sound happy to see me, Kalhoun.
(Tom) I prefer to think of you like a sexually transmitted disease.
(JB) This should be repulsive.
(Tom) You always pop up at the most inopportune times, and because of you, I always walk away dissatisfied.
(Kramer) You seem to know an awful lot about the clap, Kalhoun.
(Tom) What can I say, Krispy Krame… your mother gets around.
(Kramer) My mother is a saint!
(JB) Would you two knock it off, already?
(Kramer) I’m sorry, J. B., but I… Dorothy Mantooth Kramer is a saint!
(JB) Alright.
(Tom) Patron Saint of giving…
(JB) ALRIGHT!
(Tom) Calm yourself, Mann-Wagon. I don’t like the looks of that vein in your forehead.
(Kramer) Yeah, we don’t want you to burst an embolism, J.B..
(JB) Kramer, your thoughts on tonight’s Main Event.
(Kramer) It pains me to say this, J.B., but the only way I see the LAX-itives taking this one, is if the Trust Fund Kids have a major breakdown in communication. Cunning and Owens are simply just too talented and too accomplished for our favorite Mexican miscreants.
(Tom) I can’t believe I’m actually agreeing with Kram-a-lam-a-ding-dong.
(JB) You don’t think that the change in attitude will help the LAX-itives?
(Tom) Listen, Mann-Hole. On one half of the ring, you have the current Foundation Heavyweight Champion and a former Foundation Heavyweight Champion. Across the ring, you’ve got two guys who haven’t won a match in nearly seven years.
(JB) So what happens if Keith Owens is named number one contender and the Trust Fund Kids suddenly find themselves at odds?
(Kramer) Well, we could have a situation like we did at Last Rites, where Owens goes out to make a difference with the Difference Maker, and simply throws his partner to the wolves.
(Tom) Or in this case, the Chihuahuas.
(Kramer) I, for one, don’t see that happening. Owens has had too many title opportunities already… the fans are desperate for some fresh blood in the FHC division.
(Tom) How dare you.
(JB) Let’s take it to Troy Gilmore at ringside, where we’ll take our next step on the path to crowning the Tag Team Champions!
The LAX-itives (El Asso Wipo and Señor Bag of Crap) vs. The Trust Fund Kids (Keith Owens and Trevor Cunning(FH))
Three Wishes Qualifying Match
Traditional, mariachi style-guitars give way to pounding trumpets of the Voodoo Glow Skulls’ track “Human Piñata.” El Asso Wipo emerges from behind the curtain, draped in the Mexican flag with a green bandana across the lower half of his already masked visage, looking all surly and irritated; but behind him, Señor Bag of Crap bounces out on a pogo stick.
(JB) Would you look at that?
(Tom) Here you have El Asso, trying to make a serious, political statement, and the Bag of Crap behind him has to go and mess it up by being goofy.
(Kramer) Señor Bag of Crap is doing the best he can, Kalhoun.
(Tom) Is that what the doctors told your mother, Kramer, when you came out only partially aborted?
(JB) My God, Bear.
(Kramer) One of these days, Kalhoun, I am going to beat your ass.
(Tom) Hopefully you do a better job than your mother. She can’t even spank me for fun in bed.
(JB) Bear…
(Tom) She smacks my ass, looks up at me and says “did it hurt?” When I’m all, “Give it to me you nasty…”
(Kramer) I will rip your soul out through your nostrils if you say one more negative thing about my saintly mother, Kalhoun.
El Asso seems confused by the rather positive reaction his supposedly intimidating visage is receiving, until he turns around to see Bag of Crap astride the pogo stick. He waits for Señor to stop bouncing, and then grabs him by the mask, drags him down to the ring, and rolls him under the bottom rope.
Now inside, El Asso orders Señor Bag of Crap to one turnbuckle as he ascends the other. They hit stereo moonsaults, landing on their feet in the center of the ring, before posing all gangster and shit in the center of the ring. A tiny green pyrotechnic burst, as lame and pathetic as a sparkler on the Fourth of July, sprays up from the ring apron.
(Kramer) Isn’t that cute?
(Tom) Kind of like…
(JB) Bear. Don’t.
(Tom) Hah. This is going to be fun. Kind of like when Kramer’s mom…
(Kramer) Don’t you dare, Kalhoun.
(Tom) Bakes cookies.
(Kramer) You ass.
(Tom) And let me tell you boy, are her cookies delicious.
It’s as if the whispers themselves flicked a switch, turning the hatred of thousands upon thousands of men, women and children on like a light, or, judging from the horrible sounds coming from the crowd… maybe the whispers pulled the cord of an old, clunky lawnmower. The boos, jeers and profanity… well, the profanity not coming from the announce booth, come with the start of Puff Daddy’s Rock Remix of “All About the Benjamins.”
(JB) I have this sinking feeling in my gut, Kramer.
(Kramer) I know what you mean, J.B.. It’s almost like this crowd is ready to riot.
(Tom) Oooh. Like Soccer Hooligans! I’ll get to loot the concession stands!
The disdain, for once, isn’t for the man known to the world as P-Diddy. It’s for the Trust Fund Kids. Keith Owens walks out from behind the curtain, the lovely, beautiful, statuesque Melissa Hayes on his arm. Shortly thereafter, Trevor Cunning comes on to the scene, sporting both his signature bottle of Jack Daniels and the Foundation Heavyweight Championship.
(Tom) How’s that for unity?
(JB) I’m not so sure, Bear. Neither man seems to be looking at the other.
(Tom) It’s called focus, Mann-Chowder. Besides, why would you want to look at either of them when Melissa Hayes is at ringside? Yowza!
Gold pyro shoots up from the stage, dropping sparks onto the arena floor like tiny stars falling from the nighttime sky. The Trust Fund Kids their way to ringside, Hayes holding the ropes open for Owens to step inside. Cunning takes a swig of Jack as Owens hops up on the second rope, arms out posing behind the Godfather as he spits the mahogany colored alcohol into the audience.
(Tom) There. Unity. Now you two need to stop trying to start trouble and spread rumors about dissension between the Trust Fund Kids.
(Kramer) Listen, Kalhoun. I work with you, even though, quite frankly, I want a homeless man to slice your throat open with a prison shank before defiling your corpse in ways that I can’t say on air thanks to the freakin’ FCC.
(Tom) Go ahead and write it down, and then I’ll come up with a list of ways that I’ve defiled your mother, and then we can compare. I’ll be willing to be that my list is longer.
(JB) I could’ve taken the internship in the newsroom, but no, I said, I wanted to be a sportscaster.
Owens hops down off of the apron and immediately pounces on Señor Bag of Crap, knocking him to the mat with a running leg lariat. James Elbourn pushes El Asso Wipo to the corner, despite his protests, while Cunning peels off his polo shirts and hands them to the ring attendant. The FHC and the bottle of Jack however, stay nestled in the corner.
Owens pulls the Señor up by his mask and irish-whips him across the ring. One back body drop and the Bag of Crap is flat on his back. Owens hits the ropes and, on the return, does a handspring into a bodysplash. He covers for two.
(JB) We haven’t seen athleticism like that from Keith Owens in quite some time!
(Kramer) Owens is just showing off with that maneuver, J.B.. We all know that Owens has that high risk, high flying background from his days as Street Style, J.B., but after training with David Kurresh in Japan, he just has so many other, safer weapons that he doesn’t need to rely on the aerial assault that brought him to the dance in the first place.
(Tom) Wow, could you be any more of a walking cliché?
(Kramer) This, coming from the sarcastic, insulting heel announcer.
(Tom) Touché.
Owens waits for Señor Bag of Crap to climb to his knees, and then runs forward, connecting with a shining wizard. The knee strike sends Señor BOC back to the TFK’s corner, where Owens tags in Cunning.
(JB) This is where the Trust Fund Kids are at their most dangerous.
(Tom) Look at how brave Trevor Cunning is.
(Kramer) I swear to Gord that you were a breach baby.
(Tom) He comes out to compete, even with fractured ribs from when Del Carver dropped a keg on his chest.
(JB) You mean, the keg that Cunning brought in the ring?
(Tom) Since when are you about details, Mann-Hole?
(Kramer) Breach.
(Tom) To top it off, he’s got twenty six stitches in his forehead from Del Carver raking barbed wire across his face… nearly ruining his movie-star good looks!
(Kramer) Baby.
(JB) Again, Cunning brought the wire into the ring.
(Tom) Again. Shut up.
(Kramer) Again. Breach baby.
Owens pulls Señor Bag of Crap to his feet and lifts him into a bear-hug like position. Cunning gets a head of steam, sprinting across the ring, hitting the ropes, and leveling Señor BOC with a lariat on the return.
(Kramer) Brutal Hart Attack!
(Tom) They call that one the “WORD.”
(JB) Either way, it was a devastating maneuver. One. Two…
(Kramer) No! Asso makes the save.
Elbourn coaxes El Asso Wipo back to his corner, bringing Keith Owens in behind the referee’s back. El Asso tries to get back to the middle of the ring, but Elbourn won’t let him pass. They stand Señor up, leaving him vertical albeit wobbly, and each Trust Fund Kid takes off to the opposite side of the ring. On the return, Cunning hits a spinning Polish Hammer, tossing heavy fists into Bag of Crap’s neck, chest and throat, while Owens takes out Señor’s legs with a running sweep.
(JB) Ooooh!
(Tom) They nearly folded him in half on that one! Speaking of being folded in half…
(Kramer) Would you like to be, Kalhoun? I can arrange that with little to no effort.
(Tom) How Twitch put up with you, I’ll never know.
Owens returns to the corner before Elbourn turns around, and Cunning drags Señor back to the corner, laying into the LAX-itive with a pair of heavy chops and some thick, drunken haymakers. Señor Bag of Crap slumps down to the bottom of the corner, head tucked against the bottom turnbuckle, allowing Cunning to place his boot across Señor BOC’s throat.
(Kramer) If you’ll notice, both Cunning and Owens are working on the neck and throat region, softening Señor Bag of Crap up for either the Sobriety Test or the Difference Maker.
(Tom) What about the Stock Exchange, Kramy-Krame? That affects the back.
(Kramer) Is he always like this?
(JB) Only on days that end in “Y.”
Cunning heads back to the opposite corner and charges in blindly, and oddly enough, connects; striking Señor Bag of Crap in the face with a running knee. He then pulls Señor BOC to his feet by his mask and tosses him into the TFK Corner.
Owens and Cunning step out into the center of the ring. Cunning irish-whips Owens into the corner; only for Señor Bag of Crap to move out of the way. Owens leaps to the top rope as Señor BOC dives forward, ducking a Cunning lariat and dive rolling into his corner to make the hot tag to El Asso Wipo.
(Tom) Damnit!
(JB) Quite an evasive maneuver from Señor Bag of Crap. Sort of like Bear come tax season.
(Kramer) Or women, in general, when Kalhoun walks into the room.
(Tom) Gang up on me all you want. At least your mothers love me.
El Asso Wipo hits a spinning wheel kick on the Foundation Heavyweight Champion, knocking him to the mat. By the time he reaches a vertical base however, it’s far too late. Keith Owens dives off with a flying cross body block.
Only problem is, El Asso rolls through, getting a two-count.
(Kramer) Now this is more like it.
A dropkick puts Cunning back on the mat, but a second, attempted on Keith Owens is side stepped, and El Asso Wipo crashes and burns. Keith pulls El Asso to his feet, irish-whips him to the ropes, and back body drops the leader of the LAX-itives.
Oddly enough, as if this entire act was choreographed, Trevor Cunning is in perfect position to powerbomb El Asso to the ground.
(JB) Stock Exchange!
(Kramer) Just like that!
(Tom) As if you ever had any doubt.
Owens covers while Cunning goes on defense, knocking Señor Bag of Crap off of the apron onto the Spanish Announce Table. The table doesn’t break, leaving Señor BOC to roll back onto some very surprised announcer’s laps.
After the three count, Owens hops to his feet, dusts his hands off, and waits for Melissa Hayes to step into the ring. Instead of “All About the Benjamins,” remix style, we hear Roger Daltrey’s trademark scream!
(JB) Here comes the man in charge!
(Kramer) You don’t think he’s going to name the number one contender now, do you?
(Tom) Well, unless he’s bringing strippers and peanut butter and jelly sandwiches… I’d have to go with yes.
(JB) What do strippers and peanut butter and jelly sandwiches have in common?
(Tom) When you eat either one, your tongue sticks to the roof of your mouth.
(Kramer) I think I just threw up in my mouth a little bit. Yep, definitely did.
Ray Buchanan steps out onto the stage as referees run down to help the LAX-itives to the back. In the ring, The Trust Fund Kids have demanded that James Elbourn raise their hands in victory. Melissa Hayes stands behind the pair, holding the Foundation Heavyweight Championship belt. Cunning and Owens each ask for a microphone.
(Buchanan) I wouldn’t be celebrating right now if I were either of you.
(Trevor) Why is that, Ray Ray?
(Keith) You’ve got news for us, Buchanan? Something shocking?
(Trevor) If you’ve got something to say, then why don’t you just say it, Buchanan. We can take whatever you throw at us.
Cunning steps forward and puts one foot on the bottom rope and one foot on the second rope, lifting his arms as if to say “bring it on, biatch!”
(Buchanan) It’s simple, Mister Cunning. You see, your opponent for next week, the man who you will be defending the Foundation Heavyweight Championship against… he’s standing right behind you!
(JB) Woah! Now that’s news.
(Kramer) The Trust Fund Kids collide, right here next week on Annihilation?
(Tom) Say it isn’t so!
The fans pop for this announcement, apparently quite happy to hear that the Trust Fund Kids will battle each other next week… or is that why they’re applauding?
(Trevor) So that’s how it’s going to be, Buchanan? You’re going to make me fight my best friend?
(Kramer) I don’t think he is.
(JB) Look, in the ring!
CRACK!
(Tom) What the hell is he doing here?
(Kramer) Keith Owens just went down like a cheerleader on prom night!
(JB) That was one hell of a kendo stick shot!
As Owens and Hayes bail from the ring, choosing discretion as the better part of valor, the intensity in the arena grows to a fever pitch. A look of panic grows across Trevor Cunning’s face. He doesn’t turn around. Not yet.
(Buchanan) No, Mister Cunning, you won’t be facing Mister Owens next week… you’ll be facing the man standing right behind you.
Cunning turns around to see none other than…
(Buchanan) The REAPER, Leonard AARONS!
Cunning finds himself, face to face with the Reaper, who immediately swings the kendo stick into Cunning’s midsection. With Cunning doubled over, Aarons cracks the stick across Cunning’s skull, sending him back against the ropes.
(Kramer) There’s your blood, Kalhoun. Are you happy now?
(Tom) Of course not!
(JB) I sure am.
(Tom) No one asked you, Mann-Chowder! No one asked you!
The force of the shot leaves Cunning tied up in the ropes, the top and the middle rope intertwined to pin his arms. The Foundation Heavyweight Champion struggles, trying to escape, but the force of the shots have not only re-opened the lacerations on his forehead, but left him unable to free himself.
(Tom) Buchanan planned this! This is tampering, or nepotism, or racism. That’s it, this is racism!
(JB) …
(Kramer) … Right…
Aarons raises the kendo stick in the air, and then points it right at Cunning. The fans start screaming, chanting “One More Time! One More Time!,” begging Aarons to crack Cunning across the skull.
Before he can however, Owens and Hayes hop up on the apron and release Cunning, rolling him through the ropes and to the arena floor.
(Tom) Oh thank Gord!
(JB) Again, the rats have escaped from the cage.
(Kramer) Well, I’ll tell you J.B., if Cunning wasn’t taking this title match seriously before, he sure as hell is now.
(Tom) That’s how much you know, Cosmo. Cunning’s going to go home, call Hector, and get this match taken off the books. There won’t be a defense next week, no way in hell.
2Pac's "Realist Killaz" hits the public address, signaling Aarons' spiritual, figurative victory. He climbs the turnbuckle and points the kendo stick at the Trust Fund Kids, who find themselves making a hasty retreat up the ramp to the back.
(JB) That's all we have for you tonight on Annihilation. I'm JB Mann, and for Bear...
(Tom) I'm announcing under protest!
(Kramer) Duly noted. Breach Baby.
(JB) And Kramer, we'll see you next week when the Reaper takes on Trevor Cunning for the Foundation Heavyweight Championship.
(Tom) Don't lie to the fans, Mann-Wagon!
(Kramer) So tune in next week... Same Wrasslin' Time, Same Wrasslin' Channel.
(JB) Good night!
