PRE-SHOW
Those Pre-Show Jitters
From the logo – we cut to the announce position to find Kramer with his head on the desk. A large arm, which one could easily mistake for an unwrapped tube of cookie dough were it not for the fingers, shoots in from off camera – nudging the NAFW institution into consciousness.
(Kramer) Helloooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
(Poppin’ Fresh) Breathe Kramer. I’ll be damned if I’m going to give you mouth to mouth.
(Kramer) How on Gord’s green earth did you convince Hector to put you in the announce booth?
McJohnson looks down at the candy bar in his left hand, and quickly shoves it under the papers on the announce desk.
(Brian) Speaking of marriages – how’s the divorce coming, Kramer?
(Kramer) I legally cannot answer that question.
(Brian) Well, anyways… welcome to the Redemption pre-show. I’m Brian McJohnson.
(Kramer) Worst. Name. Ever.
(Brian) You’re a giant horse’s ass.
(Kramer) And you’re the size of horse with a giant ass.
(Brian) Keep pushing my buttons, old man.
(Kramer) I’m Kramer – the NAFW Institution – and my fellow announcers and I…
(Brian) There’s only the two of us.
(Kramer) Well – you’re taking up two seats.
(Brian) Drop dead.
(Kramer) Says the walking heart attack.
(Brian) I hate you.
(Kramer) The world isn’t McJohnson-centric. I was referring to Kalhoun and Mann. We’ve got one hell of a show for you – and we’re going to kick things off… backstage?
(Brian) Of course – why would we wrestle on a wrestling program?
Pull Apart
With a rapid flash to the backstage area, we cut to a tangled mass of bodies. To the left, a sea of referees attempts to pull one Vincent Yun Chang back towards the catering table… while a flock of agents tries to pull Trevor Cunning back towards the locker rooms.
Blood runs down Cunning’s face from his nostrils – he’s suffered what appears to be yet another broken nose. While his distorted proboscis may be perpetually bespeckled by Gin Blossoms – only a solid right to the bridge can cause this level of trauma.
(Trevor) Let me at that miserable son of a bitch! Sucker punch me? Sucker punch Trevor Cunning?
Chang says nothing – until he releases a primal scream fit for an Olympic weightlifter dropping his colon out of his ass – and breaks free from the officials holding him in place. He knocks James Elbourn to the concrete floor – runs forward, dives off the referee’s back, and lands on the pile of agents, knocking them – and by proxy – Trevor Cunning – to the ground.
(Kramer) Another backstage brawl between Cunning and VYC! I guess history repeats itself.
(Brian) Well, you didn’t learn from the first… or the second… or the third divorce, did you?
The vaunted enemies roll around on the concrete, exchanging ineffective blows. Cunning pushes VYC away and the pair scrambles to their feet. Jason Martin waistlocks VYC, attempting to break the fight up. Instead, he leaves Chang a sitting duck, as Cunning dives and tackles both men into the concessions table.
(Kramer) I bet you hate to see that food go to waste, eh there, Donkey Lips?
(Brian) I’ll awful waffle you, so help me Gord.
Cunning rolls off the pile, covered in coffee and guacamole – and immediately begins stomping VYC. Before he can inflict any significant damage, he’s taken down.
Hard.
The foot really came out of nowhere – darting in from off camera like a lightning bolt in boots. When Cunning’s assailant walks in from off frame – the commotion in the backstage area grinds to a screeching halt.
It’s Kyle Cole. Wearing Zebra Stripes.
Cole commands a certain authority just by his presence – the referees and agents stay back as he approaches Cunning’s prone form. VYC stays down on top of Jason Martin – unsure if he should attack or retreat.
(Cole) Gentlemen… the EGO. HAS. LANDED!
He extends a hand to VYC – who, after looking around, slightly confused – takes the offer. Cole pulls Chang to his feet, and not letting go of the hand, in tight.
(Cole) Now, Mr. Chang… I suggest you head back to your locker room before you end up dreaming - like that miserable sack of sh(beep).
After all… you have a match later tonight.
Chang turns and walks away – before extending his leg backwards and striking Cole right under the chin with a Superkick of his own.
(Kramer) Woah!
(Brian) Do not mess with VYC!
(Kramer) Or your dinner, right?
(Brian) Damn straight! That’s retaliation for the Dreamweaver Deluxe VYC took at Annihilation!
Even the refs are stunned at VYC’s attitude – at his actions. Clearly – VYC is not a man to be trifled with – not after the backstage brawls, after the sneak attacks, after nearly losing the Scrapyards.
(VYC) I don’t play favorites either.
(Brian) Something tells me Cunning versus VYC might be mighty interesting?
(Kramer) Eloquent. Really.
(Brian) This, coming from the guy who used to work with the walking malapropism.
(Kramer) Nothing works with Twitch. Twitch merely is.
(Brian) And Kyle Cole… he’s merely going to rip VYC’s head off.
The Name Game
From intensity to insanity – we cut backstage to the Mexican Toiletries. Señor Bag of Crap sits on a bench – attempt, and failing, to tie his boots, each time unlacing and relacing, only to mis-tie the knot.
(El Asso Wipo) Explain something to me.
El Asso Wipo, meanwhile, is pacing, furiously.
(Señor Bag of Crap) Photosynthesis is the process by which plants, some bacteria, and some protistans use the energy from sunlight to produce sugar, which cellular respiration…
(El Asso Wipo) What the hell are you talking about?
(Señor Bag of Crap) You said to explain something to you – and I chose photosynthesis.
(El Asso Wipo) I wasn’t literally asking you to expound upon a random topic of convers…
(Señor Bag of Crap) Then why did you ask me to explain something to you?
(El Asso Wipo) I wasn’t. I was using that particular phrase to introduce my question.
(Señor Bag of Crap) Then ask your question.
(El Asso Wipo) Explain something to me.
(Señor Bag of Crap) Democracy describes a number of related forms of government. With origins in ancient Greece, Rome, south Asia, and North and South America, democracy has ...
El Asso stops and stares at the Bag man. Señor grows silent.
Beat.
(El Asso Wipo) Knock it off!
(Señor Bag of Crap) Alright… Alright…
Beat.
(El Asso Wipo) Explain something to me.
Beat. Señor quivers, forcing himself to remain silent.
(Señor Bag of Crap) Alright.
(El Asso Wipo) Why do people think we smell?
(Señor Bag of Crap) Maybe because you haven’t washed your mask since 1973.
(El Asso Wipo) I was born in 1978.
(Señor Bag of Crap) That’s what makes this whole thing even more confusing.
Beat.
(El Asso Wipo) I mean, we get beat up by The Goods at Annihilation, and the next thing I know, Twitch is running around backstage, throwing around bars of Irish Spring…
(Señor Bag of Crap) Zest.
(El Asso Wipo) Excuse me?
(Señor Bag of Crap) He was throwing around bars of Zest.
(El Asso Wipo) The particular brand of soap he was distributing to the other individuals in the locker room is of no concern at this particular moment, Señor. What I am, and by association, you should be concerned with is the fact that the entire locker room thinks we have poor hygiene.
(Señor Bag of Crap) I don’t have poor hygiene.
(El Asso Wipo) I know!
(Señor Bag of Crap) Come to think of it, neither do you when you use your prescription deodorant.
(El Asso Wipo) I hate you.
(Señor Bag of Crap) It’s true, isn’t it?
(El Asso Wipo) You know that’s a sensitive subject!
(Señor Bag of Crap) You have been using it, right?
(El Asso Wipo) So what, we’re supposed to smell like daisies when we get out of the ring?
(Señor Bag of Crap) So that’s a no… on using the prescription deodorant?
(El Asso Wipo) You think it’s funny that the entire organization goes around deriding your physical appearance and your personal hygiene?
(Señor Bag of Crap) Well, maybe when they say we stink – they just mean we’re not particularly good wrestlers. Let’s face it – that’s a pretty true statement.
(El Asso Wipo) Then explain the bars of Irish Spring.
(Señor Bag of Crap) Zest.
(El Asso Wipo) I don’t give a damn what the brand of soap was!
(Señor Bag of Crap) Let’s assume for a minute, for argument’s sake – that one of us, and let’s assume, for argument’s sake – that it’s you – wasn’t – for argument’s sake – wearing his prescription deodorant like the doctor told him…
(El Asso Wipo) Would you get over the goddamn deodorant!
(Señor Bag of Crap) It takes two seconds to apply, that’s all that I’m saying.
(El Asso Wipo) Neither you, nor I have a body odor problem. So when Troy Clark says we smell…
(Señor Bag of Crap) The ring announcer was making fun of our hygiene?
(El Asso Wipo) No, that’s Troy Gilmore.
(Señor Bag of Crap) Wait, I thought that dude was fighting Jake Rydell.
(El Asso Wipo) No, that’s Peter Gilmour.
(Señor Bag of Crap) So we are fighting the ring announcer?
(El Asso Wipo) No. Listen.
(Señor Bag of Crap) Listening.
(El Asso Wipo) Troy Gilmore is the ring announcer. Peter Gilmour is fighting Jake Rydell. We are fighting Ken Harris and Troy Clark.
(Señor Bag of Crap) But I thought Zangief was fighting Cougar’s nephew.
(El Asso Wipo) He is.
(Señor Bag of Crap) So why is Cougar’s nephew saying we smell bad?
(El Asso Wipo) He isn’t.
(Señor Bag of Crap) I’m confused.
(El Asso Wipo) Derek Clarke is Cougar’s nephew. Troy Gilmore is the ring announcer. Peter Gilmour is fighting Jake Rydell. We are fighting Ken Harris and Troy Clark. Comprende?
(Señor Bag of Crap) Comprendo.
(El Asso Wipo) So when Troy Clark says we have…
(El Asso Wipo) Que?
(Señor Bag of Crap) Can you go over that one more time?
(El Asso Wipo) How I’ve put up with you for seven years is beyond me.
(Señor Bag of Crap) I do pay half the rent check.
(El Asso Wipo) Ah yes, there it is.
(Señor Bag of Crap) So when’s the rent due this month, anyway?
(El Asso Wipo) The fifteenth, as usu… that’s not the problem!
(Señor Bag of Crap) Which Thomas is Spaz, again?
(El Asso Wipo) Names aren’t the problem either!
(Señor Bag of Crap) So what’s the problem again?
(El Asso Wipo) We stink.
(Señor Bag of Crap) Scent or talent?
(El Asso Wipo) I’m not even sure what we’re talking about any more.
(Señor Bag of Crap) So what do we do?
(El Asso Wipo) We go out there, and we make Troy Clark apologize.
(Señor Bag of Crap) Why? What did the ring announcer ever do to us?
(El Asso Wipo) I’m going to the ring.
El Asso leaves the locker room and Señor Bag of Crap behind. He finishes tying his boots, stands up, and falls flat on his face.
He tied his boots together.
(Kramer) Gord help me. They’re as stupid as your name.
(Brian) Or your face.
The opening chords to the Voodoo Glow Skulls’ Human Piñata hit the public address, signaling the arrival of everyone’s favorite enhancement talent – the Mexican Toiletries. El Asso Wipo jogs out – and receives the customary “1st wrestler” pop.
Señor Bag of Crap follows – not wearing boots. The Toiletries hit the ring, and Human Piñata gives way to Tom Waits’ “Big in Japan.”
Ken Harris and Troy Clark hit the entrance ramp – with Ken Harris drawing a sizable reaction from his time with SHOOT Project. Tonight, Harris is all business – Clark all pleasure – strutting while Ken looks on disapprovingly.
The Mexican Toiletries (El Asso Wipo and Señor Bag of Crap) vs. Ken Harris and Troy Clark
When the NAFW’s newest Odd Couple hit the ring – it’s on like the former Soviet Republic of Azerbaijan.
Harris and Clark dominate – Harris taking his opponents apart with precision – while Clark attempts to add a little flair and a little panache. His arrogance gets the best of him, allowing the Toiletries to gain a modicum of offense off of a hot tag. Clark mocks El Asso’s scent – and takes a Euro-Mexican Uppercut for his troubles and a pair of dropkicks.
Finally, Clark makes the tag to Harris, who, looking back at Clark disapprovingly – shows him how it’s done. He takes El Asso down with a spinebuster, and then floors Señor with an implant DDT.
Talent and arrogance still win out over heart and ineptitude every time – a pair of Doomsday Devices and The Most Devestatingist Tag Team Move in the History of Time and All its Children finish.
Filler
(Brian) So tell me, Kramer – did your now ex-wife get half of your toupee, too? You’re looking a little thin up there?
(Kramer) I bet no one has ever said that you’re looking thin anywhere?
(Brian) I walked right into that one, didn’t I?
(Kramer) When you’re that size, McJohnson – you walk into everything.
(Brian) I should’ve kept that sandwich and sent Priestly out here for the abuse.
A Night to Dismember
We are in the back of Madison Sqaure Garden as Redemption is just moments away. Cut to Peter Gilmour’s locker room where Peter is lacing up his boots as he faces Jake Rydell. Peter is in his ring clothes, which consists of black boots and black shorts. His customary black cloaked jacket with hood is sitting on the couch beside him. He finishes lacing up his boot and stands up to stretch out his neck and arms. Peter seems very confident that he will be victorious tonight. A knock is then heard on the door.
(Peter) Come in!
In walks Peter’s long time friend and mentor Max Masterson wearing a black shirt and pants.
(Peter) Hey, you made it! How was your flight?
(Max) A little bumpy, but it went well. Are you ready for your match tonight with young Jake Rydell?
(Peter) I am Max. Tonight is a night of Redemption. Ironic that the name of this Pay Per View is REDEMPTION as well? Anyways, I am very focused on beating Jake Rydell tonight and showing him that he should of never messed with the Xtreme Icon Peter Gilmour. Tonight, Jake Rydell gets taken to the Xtreme. He will be beaten, bloodied and battered so bad, his own mother wouldn’t recognize him. Tonight, is the night that young Jake Rydell will never forget.
Max looks at Peter and rubs his chin.
(Max) Very good Peter. BUT, you forgot one thing.
(Peter) What’s that old friend?
Another knock is heard on the door. In comes Ashley Marie, Peter’s fiancé wearing a stunning red miniskirt and red shoes. Peter’s jaw drops to the floor as Max just admires Ashley’s beauty.
(Ashley) Hey baby. What's the matter? You look surprised to see me.
(Peter) Well, I.. I never expected you to be here.
(Ashley) Well I did have to run back to Rome to check up on the apartment you know. Got to pay the rent somehow right? Anyways, I’m here to cheer you on tonight. Shall we go to the ring?
(Peter) Not tonight baby. Max and I have been talking and I think it’s best that you stay back here. I don’t need any distractions tonight.
(Ashley) But baby I’ve always been by your side for your matches and I’ve never been a distraction to you.
Peter begins to laugh. Max just looks at Peter.
(Peter) That’s a hoot. You got me DQ’d so many times I’ve lost count. Baby, I know this is our homecoming and the fans want to see their hometown couple walk down that aisle. But tonight, I need you to stay here.
Ashley puts her head down and begins to cry a little. Peter rolls his eyes and sighs. Max, however puts his arms around Ashley.
(Max) Have no fear young Ashley. We have a front row seat for you to watch Peter’s match. But I strongly advise you not to interfere in his match. This is something Peter must do on his own.
(Ashley) But aren’t you going down to the ring with him?
(Max) I am. But I’m only going down there to give instructions to Peter. You see over the last few weeks, I have been training Peter to become the champion that he once was and to control his anger in the ring. So please don’t take this as me becoming Peter’s manager because I am not. I am just teaching Peter that all this anger he has inside has to be contained and he has to unleash it on his opponents and not others like yourself. Do you understand what I’m saying Ashley?
Ashley nods her head and wipes away the tears from her face. She then looks at Peter.
(Ashley) Good luck tonight baby. I will be right there watching you.
Ashley gives Peter a kiss on the cheek as she leaves the room. Max then gets Peter’s cloaked jacket and stands next to him.
(Max) She is a great woman Peter. Do not let her go.
(Peter) I won’t Max. Ashley is going to be my wife someday and the mother to my kids.
(Max) Come, let us get ready for your match.
Peter puts on his jacket and looks at Max with a deep stare.
(Peter) Tonight, Jake Rydell will have a night to REMEMBER..
Peter and Max leave the locker room and head down the hallway as the scene fades out.
(Kramer) There’s a lot at stake, even on the pre-show!
(Brian) Did you just say steak and pizza?
Rimshot.
(Kramer) Yes, folks… we went there.
Zangief vs. Derek Clarke
The Russian National Anthem begins playing over the public address – signaling the arrival of the Moscow Maniac, the Bear Fighter from Belarusk – Zangief.
Only problem is… Zangief ain’t coming.
(Brian) Where the hell is Zangief? What… did Player two just press start or something?
(Kramer) I’d be surprised if Zangief can even walk after the beating the Reaper laid down upon him.
(Brian) Seriously. That guy’s kind of a dick. Kind of like you.
Zangief vs. Derek Clarke
We restart the Russian National Anthem – and now Zangief arrives – being pushed to ringside in a wheelchair by X-Cold.
(Brian) He still has a job here?
(Kramer) Why don’t you go offer him a sandwich – take his spot on the roster? Hell, the exercise’d do you good.
(Brian) I’m getting sick and tired of the fat jokes, Kramer.
(Kramer) But apparently not of bologna.
The pair reaches the ring, and X-Cold tosses Zangief’s arm over his shoulder. He helps Zangief into the ring and hands the Russian Bear a microphone.
(Zangief) Zangief’s doctors tell Zangief to no fight this evening. Zangief explain to doctors that Zangief hate men named Derek ever since large, African gentleman named Derek took Zangief’s sisters virginity in the back of Zangief’s Ford Focus.
(Kramer) That’s just uncalled for.
(Brian) Wow.
(Kramer) I know.
(Brian) Zangief drives a Ford Focus? I can’t even fit in the backseat of one of those.
(Zangief) So even if Doctors want Zangief no fight – Zangief fight this Derek with the strength of THOUSAND COMMUNIST BEAR!
COME DEREK! COME TASTE ZANGIEF’S ENGORGED FURY!
(Brian) That can’t taste good.
(Kramer) And you’ll eat anything.
Cue “Driven” by Sevendust and NAFW Legacy Derek Clarke. Clarke too has a microphone and a chip on his shoulder.
(Derek) You know what? I’m sick of this shit.
(Kramer) We’re sorry about that folks.
Derek starts walking down the ramp – sans music – to stunned silence. Now in the ring – he starts looking Zangief up and down. The Russian Bear can barely stand – his right knee heavily bandaged from the Reaper’s needlessly violent attack.
(Derek) So this is how it’s going to be? Well then – Congratu-fucking-lations, Zangief!
(Brian) Uhh…
(Kramer) Folks, in the back we’ve got…
(Brian) Don’t even think of cutting away, you pansy! This could get good!
(Derek) I quit. You win.
(Brian) Never mind – you can cut away.
Clarke drops the mic and leaves the ring. The Russian National Anthem begins playing – leaving Zangief and X-Cold to dance around the ring like Larry and Balki on Perfect Strangers.
Yes, they’re doing the dance of joy.
Derek Clarke stops at the top of the ramp, and when approached by a cameraman, grabs the camera and knocks him on his ass with a quick shove before heading back through the curtains.
(Kramer) Did Derek Clarke just forfeit?
(Brian) I think the better question is… why?
From the sounds of stammering idiot announcers and confused arena patrons comes the glorious sound of pure, unadulterated rock.
Q: How Do You Spell Bad Ass?
(Kramer) I think an even better question, at this juncture at least, is why the hell the lights are dimming?
(Brian) Have you ever rocked beneath bright lights, Kramer? No. The only place to Rock and Roll… is in the dark.
The opening chords of AC/DC’s “For Those About to Rock (We Salute You)” quickly fade into the rousing chorus – Angus Young’s bad ass vocals giving way to two of the greatest men who have ever lived in the history of modern living.
Greater than Ghandhi.
More Hardcore than Harry S. Truman.
Bigger Bad Asses than Jesus F’n Christ himself.
(Brian) IT’S REX F’N MICHAELS!
(Kramer) The Southern Gentleman himself has returned to the NAFW!
(Brian) Wait, why are we so excited?
(Kramer) It’s just something I do – you know, adds to the viewing experience for those who have purchased / are about to purchase the PPV.
(Brian) So who’s Rex Michaels?
Yes’m Sir… you bettah believe that the Sultan of Southern Hospitality, the Master of the Mason Dixon, Mister Rex Michaels has arrived. He steps out on to the stage, acoustic guitar in hand – clad in the most bitching pair of leather pants one has ever laid their eyes on.
Even if you never desired to wear a pair of leather pants, be it for style or comfort or just because you think leather pants make a man look a little gay – even you, sir… you will look at these pants, with the tassels and intricate etch work – and you sir, will wish you were wearing those pants.
To Mister Michaels’ right – wearing denim cutoff shorts, chaps, and a vest comprised of the American Flag on the right, and the Confederate Flag on the left – is the Rajah of Rock and Roll, the Demi-God of Guitar Solos – Scott F’n Rocker.
An intricate jam session takes place atop the stage, with fire and pyro exploding in such a gratuitous fashion – the NAFW accountants are weeping in angst. Even the most ostentatious wrestler on the rosters looks at this needless display and says: what a waste… but oh, so, Bad Ass.
(Kramer) Have you seen my Sudoku?
(Brian) Are you not moved by the penultimate power of rock?
(Kramer) Penultimate?
(Brian) Yeah, boobs are the highest power. And maybe soft shell tacos. And ham.
(Kramer) No, I’m not moved by the power of rock. Rocker and Rex have done nothing besides show up to events, asking to be put on the main roster. Neither one of these two clowns has earned a spot.
(Brian) But they ROCK SO HARD MY FILLINGS HAVE FALLEN OUT OF MY TEETH AND DOWN THE BACK OF MY THROAT!
(Kramer) Just what you need: more empty calories.
Rex n’ Rocker head down the ramp, amidst the smoke and the fury – and quickly enter the ring where X-Cold and Zangief are standing and waiting, their celebratory dance interrupted by the Bambinos of Bad Ass.
Walt Mason, still in the ring, having taken Derek Clarke’s forfeiture, signals… he signals for the bell?
(Kramer) And apparently – we have a match.
(Brian) Zangief and X-Cold are no match for The Rock n’ Rex Express!
(Kramer) Zangief can barely stand.
(Brian) The power of Rock has brought him to his knees!
(Kramer) It happened to my ex-wife. It’s what I get for letting her go back stage at a Ted Nugent concert.
(Brian) Cuckolded by the Nuge. Ouch.
XyZ (X-Cold and Zangief) vs. The Rock 'n' Rex Express (Scott Rocker and Rex Michaels)
Rocker rushes across the ring, knocking the injured Zangief off of the apron with a running knee, while Rex F’n Michaels spears X-Cold back into a neutral corner. He starts delivering lariat after lariat – stopping only when the crowd reaches ten.
He then irish-whips X-Cold across the ring to the opposite buckle, gives a huge rebel yell, and hits a running Yakuza Kick that he calls… well, the Rebel Yell.
Tag to Rocker.
Rocker leaps over the top rope, leaps high into the air, and lands with a leg drop across the back of X-Cold’s neck. Cover for two.
Zangief climbs back onto the apron.
Scott hits a scoop and a slam, places his foot on X-Cold’s chest, and proceeds to play some air guitar. That gets two – and as Scott lifts his pick hand to the air, ready to bring it down to strum – he falls, dropping the FIST OF ROCK ITSELF onto X-Cold’s face. He covers for two.
X-Cold battles back to his feet – launching right hands into Rocker’s gut. He launches off the ropes – only to be scooped up and taken down with a discus punch and a standing dropkick.
X-Cold crawls to the corner – Rocker squares himself
“BADDEST! ASS! EVER!” he screams, launching himself into the corner with a running, rolling senton. He misses.
Hot tag Zangief – equally hot tag to Rex.
Zangief stumbles over, hopping on his one good leg. Rex just looks and laughs, only to be taken to the mat with a Spinning Clothesline. Zangief pounces, pulling Rex into position for the Spinning Pile Driver, but a shot to the knee frees the Southern Gentleman – double leg takedown brings Zangief to the mat – and the Stretch Plum – known to NAFW fans as the Southern Discomfort - quickly brings about the submission for the Rock n’ Rex Express.
A: R. O. C. K. N. R. E. X.
(Kramer) I hate to say it – but that was kind of impressive.
(Brian) Yeah – Rocker didn’t get crushed like a gnat.
Rocker heads to the outside to get their guitars while Rex grabs a microphone.
(Rex) Boy howdy did that feel good!
Now, good ‘ol Rex can just here thuh boys in thuh back laughin’ already.
“Y’all only beat ‘ol X, y, Z. Y’all will never amountuh nuthin’ in the gran’ scheme uh things!
Y’all were failures as singles rasslers – what makes y’all thing you can be a successful tag team?
(Scott) Two Words: We’re Bad Ass.
(Rex) Them’s three words.
(Scott) Three Words: We’re Bad Ass.
(Rex) The greatest Rockers who ever lived – They done rocked hard and they done rocked long – they done got drunk and nailed broads with big hair that done made poor life decisions and they done had illegitimate children – and they did it as a band – as a unit – as a team.
(Scott) I ain’t into that, Rex.
(Rex) I’m speakin’ in met tuh fours.
(Scott) When the Gods of Rock released solo albums – they became but mere mortals! The true power of rock lies in the band – and in this tag team. Alone – we were only bad, and only an ass.
(Rex) Together – as the Rock n’ Rex Express – we’re the most bad ass mother effers who ever lived. And if you don’t believe that…
The pair raise their guitars, and circle X-Cold, who’s still tending to Zangief.
(Scott) We. Will. Rock You.
They swing their guitars, catching X-Cold’s skull between them like one of those silver ball perpetual motion doo-hickeys that business men keep on their desks. (Ed: and the award for world’s worst metaphor goes to…)
As AC/DC’s “For Those About to Rock (We Salute You)” hits the public address – Scott and Rex – they ROCK OUT!
Backstage – Things Happen. Or Do They? We Might Never Know.
(Kramer) Did what they said make actual sense?
(Brian) Sucks as singles – tops as teams – they’re like the superband of Tag Team Wrestling – the Velvet Revolver of the Squared Circle.
(Kramer) Well – backstage we’ve got…
I want a fight. I want VYC and I want him now.
(Brian) Ladies and Gentlemen – Trevor Cunning has joined us at the announce position – Trevor would you please, take a sea…
(Trevor) Stuff a meatball in it, Papa Gino.
Trevor’s got something he needs to get off of his chest.
The cameras now on the announce position – we can see that Cunning has again had his nose broken. Bits of bloody cotton protrude from his proboscis as if it were his nostril’s time of the month. Cunning hops up on the announce table – microphone in hand.
(Trevor) Listen up, meat puppets – Trevor’s about to pour some wisdom – one fifty one proof – right down your gullets – until you’re so goddamn smart you vomit my teachings back out.
Trevor doesn’t believe in redemption – that people can find themselves and change. Trevor doesn’t believe in karma – that there’s some cosmic bean counter putting pluses and minuses in one column or another to ensure that good and evil always wind up even in the grand scheme of things.
Trevor doesn’t believe in a higher power. Trevor doesn’t believe in fate – in predestination and destiny.
Trevor Cunning believes in one thing, and one thing only: himself.
So Mistah Vee, Why, See – you’re pissed I trashed the Scrapyards? Well then – you shouldn’t have broken my goddamn nose!
(Kramer) You started the fight, Cunning.
(Trevor) Are you freakin’ kidding me, Kramer? You – of all people – are interrupting my time?
I – Trevor Cunning – did not start a goddamn thing! When Mister Vee Why See taped his gonads to his leg, so he could pull his panties and his skirt on, so he could come down to the arena and even attempt to bask in my presence – that’s when this started.
He’s a washed up, tranny, freak – a pathetic excuse for a man and for a wrestler.
Trevor Cunning started this? Kramer, Trevor should slap you so hard that you go sterile.
Vee Why Cee’s presence – his birth, breath and existences alone started this war.
And in thirty minutes – I’m going to end it – permanently.
(Kramer) Because I’m sure Kyle Cole is going to…
With one fluid motion, the fluid in question being Jack Daniels – Cunning jerks down and grabs Kramer by his tie – and pulls him to a standing position. Now on his knees on the desk, Cunning is broken nose to bulbous nose with the NAFW Institution.
(Trevor) Why did you have to go and bring up Cole? Referee or not – quite frankly it doesn’t matter to Trevor – if Kyle Cole even contemplates becoming involved tonight – even dreams of weaving another deluxe my way… then I’ll just line him up and knock him back – just like I do, just like Trevor does to everyone else who deigns to piss him off.
Just. Like. You.
Cunning pulls a fist back, causing Kramer to instinctively cower. Instead of knocking him on his ass – Cunning simply pulls his bottle of Jack out of his back pocket – and dumps the contents on Kramer’s head – laughing hysterically the entire time.
(Trevor) Good chat. I’ll see you out there.
With that – Cunning hops off the table and heads to the back
(Brian) I haven’t seen you reek of booze since the night your ex-wife told you that she wanted a divorce, Kramer!
(Kramer) At least I’ve had sex.
(Brian) I’ll have you know for a fact…
(Kramer) It doesn’t count if it’s over AIM.
(Brian) I’ll have you know for a fact…
(Kramer) Or when you pay a girl to get naked on a webcam.
(Brian) Damnit.
(Kramer) Cunning’s a miserable son of a…
(Brian) He’ll come back out here.
(Kramer) I hope he does… when VYC and Kyle Cole are out here to beat his ass.
(Brian) That’s what I thought.
(Kramer) When did Jake Rydell get to the ring?
(Brian) Somewhere in between the ring crew cleaning up the guitar shards and you wetting yourself.
(Kramer) That’s whisky.
(Brian) I know what whisky smells like and that…
(Kramer) You’ve never had a drink, before in your life.
(Brian) Look, unless Cunning peed in that bottle – and unless he pees Jack Daniels…
(Kramer) Which is entirely possible.
(Brian) So you’re saying, R. Kramer, that you’d rather be urinated on than wet yourself?
(Kramer) I don’t like where this is going – now I know what it feels like to be a Little Debby cake once you’ve opened the wrapper.
(Brian) Well – Rydell has a lot to answer to – Gilmour wants his ass and wants it now.
(Kramer) No wonder he left Ashley Marie behind.
(Brian) You didn’t.
(Kramer) Had to.
The lights in the arena go out and then a violent explosion of fire comes from the ramp. The beginning drum beat from the song PAINKILLER by Judas Priest starts to kick in. The lights on the NAFW-tron start to flicker on and off, then another explosion of fire is heard as the guitar riif begins. As the main vocals start up, Peter Gilmour comes out in his traditional black cloaked jacket, with hood covering his face. He flashes an "X" symbol as red pyro goes off in the same manner. He goes to the ring ignoring the boos and chants from the crowd. Peter gets in the ring normally and heads to the center of the ring. He looks down as the lights dim a bit. Peter rips his hood off as fire emits from the turnbuckles – before giving a sadistically evil grin to the crowd.
Jake Rydell vs. Peter Gilmour
Look – let’s face it. No one really reads this match summaries anyway. And as far as we can tell – Jake Rydell hasn’t even made a single attempt to make his presence felt.
Pete on the other hand has been working his ass off – even though he’s got a whopping two moves in his profile – leaving me without much in mind as to Gilmour’s strategy or methodology – I owe him at least something.The pre-show’s hit about twenty-one pages in Word – single spaced – and we still have a ton to do on the main program – so I’ll keep this quick.
Rydell attacks Gilmour while he’s on the top rope – but his attacks barely do any damage. Irish-Whip is reversed into a flying shoulder tackle. Gilmour hits a pair of rights, a snap suplex, a backbreaker, and a running boot, all in that order. Michinoku Driver gets two.
Gilmour hits the Painkiller – pulls Rydell up at two. He hits a second – screaming about their tag title loss – pulls him up at two again. After a third Painkiller – Referee James Elbourn forces Gilmour back – and goes to check on Rydell.
He’s out cold.
Gilmour wins by Knock Out.
(Kramer) See what happens when you leave the woman behind!
(Brian) Thing coming from a bitter, cuckolded divorcee.
(Kramer) Better that than an overweight, obnoxious, never gonna get laid, virgin.
(Brian) At least I take home my entire paycheck.
(Kramer) You’re an intern. You don’t get paid.
(Brian) Well. Shit.
(Kramer) Well… thanks for watching, everyone. We’re about to kick it over to JB and… Kalhoun.
(Brian) You say virgin like it’s a bad thing.
(Kramer) Please, order the main show – and write to the NAFW to keep Brian McJohnson from ever sitting with me, ever again.
(Brian) And to think, like your ex-wife, I wasted part of my youth with you.
(Kramer) I’m Kramer – see you at REDEMPTION!
After the standard pre-PPV screens, including a warning from the FBI and Interpol not to make illegal reproductions of this show, a visual of a cloudy sky blue sky comes onto the screen. The opening notes of Rise Against's "Prayer of the Refugee" begin to play as the camera pans down to a desert floor, which quickly out of no where, engulfs the dirt and the sky, leading us to the lyrics.
Warm yourself by the fire, son,
And the morning will come soon.
I’ll tell you stories of a better time,
In a place that we once knew.
This video begins simply with shots of the NAFW superstars involved with this PPV running their mouths. The Reaper and Mike Stryker have a heated in ring confrontation, Keith Owens has his Grand Slam Championship interview, Essex speaks for Hush, then Trevor Cunning verbally berates VYC at ringside and intuerrupts Kyle Cole's return.
Before we packed our bags
And left all this behind us in the dust,
We had a place that we could call home,
And a life no one could touch.
This continues with Sebastian Hawke and his father cutting an interview backstage, Collier running his big mouth on the mic, Snake tries to play mind games with Andy D, Wilson lays out the challenge for Snake, Andy D, and Crazy Boy in the ring, Charles Johnson issues his challenge to purchase the X-Treme title, and Castleberry accepts, with Spaz and the Goods finally laying it on the line against Mike Lane and the Old School Empire!
Don’t hold me up now,
I can stand my own ground,
I don’t need your help now,
You won't let me down, down, down!
As tempo of the song picks up, so does the action in this video. In fact, that's all we get - action shot. Mike Lane Shadow Kicks Spaz, The Goods make their presence felt, Mike Castleberry rolls up Charles Johnson and takes off with his money, Andy D hits the Dragon Bite on Snake while Crazy Boy gets cracked over the head and loses to Wilson, and finally Ashley Collier gives multiple people stiff shots to the face with his brass knuckles, including Sebastian Hawke's father.
Don’t hold me up now,
I can stand my own ground,
I don’t need your help now,
You will let me down, down, down!
Continuing in reverse order of how we were introduced to these feuds on this video, the action continues with Cunning slapping VYC, Cunning putting Kyle Cole through a table, Kyle Cole giving both VYC and Cunning Dreamweaver Deluxes, and finally VYC answering with a superkick of his own before cutting to Hush snapping Keith Owens' Grand Slam Championship belt into two, putting Keith Owens through the announce table, and finally slamming Melissa Hayes off the stage! Finally we get to the shots of Reaper costing Stryker the Atlantic title, Stryker destroying Reaper and his car, and finally the two just beating the holy hell out of each other.
Down!
And with that final word, and the slow down of the song, we end on the visual of The Reaper being set on fire with Mike Stryker standing in the ring. Fade in to the Redemption: Salvation By Fire logo.
Cue the huge boom of the indoor pyrotechnics display as we continue to loop the fast paced chorus of "Prayer of the Refugee."
BOOM!!
BOOM!!!
The cameras pan around the arena briefly before they cut to the ringside announcer’s table, where your announcers JB Mann and Tom “The Bear” Kalhoun are standing by.
(JB) Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to Redemption: Salvation by Fire, live from the world's most famous arena Madison Square Garden right here in New York City! I am JB Mann and next to me is my broadcast partner, like always, Tom Kalhoun!
(Tom) If I said it was a pleasure to be here, I'd be lying Mannversuswild!
(JB) I wouldn't expect anything less from you Bear.
(Tom) If you're ManversusWild and I'm a Bear... Who would win in a fight?
(JB) Are we really going to go down that road tonight? Because we've got a loaded card for you including Charles Johnson attempting to nab the X-Treme Championship from Mike Castleberry, Trevor Cunning takes on VYC with SPECIAL GUEST REFEREE Kyle Cole, that piece of sporting equiptment Wilson "defends" the Atlantic Championship against Snake, Crazy Boy, AND Andy D in, what must be a first in wrestling, a SNAKES ON A CAGE match!
(Tom) MOTHERFUCKING SNAKES ON A MOTHERFUCKING CAGE!
(JB) But that's not all, as Sebastian Hawke faces the Born Warrior Ashley Collier in a grudge match, Keith Owens looks to bury Hush alive, Spaz and The Goods look to settle their score after Mike Lane turned on his friend and sided with the Old School Empire...
(Tom) SHADOOOWWW KIIICKKKKK!
The World's Most Famous Gospel Straight From NJ
(JB) And of course this is capped off by our main event for the Foundation Heavyweight Championship as the Big City Hitman...
(Tom) Big City Champion to you after tonight, Mann-lick.
(JB) Wasn't he the Big City Pyromaniac a few weeks ago?
(Tom) Hey, a man's allowed to change his opinion. Shut up.
(JB) Well, he'll be going one on one with...
Right about here is where the lights go out in the World's Most Famous Arena. Only lightbulbs are visible flashing as a few moments of silence allow everyone to hear the sounds of themselves screaming right before we hear a rather familiar, deep voice utter the words...
(Freddy) Welcome to my nightmare.
## Uh-oh... ##
The sound of drums being beaten from the movie Ali are heard next as we hear Will Smith's voice boom...
THE CHAMP IS HERE!!!
More drums accompany the beat as we hear again...
THE CHAMP IS HERE!!!
The NAFWtron starts to flash grainy images of the final sequence of the No Holds Barred match from Death Wish where Aarons defeated Cunning for the Foundation Heavyweight Championship. The fans start to work themselves into a frenzy as we hear the deep bass laced beat of "The Champ Is Here" by Jadakiss. Flashing crimson and gold lights have the packed house on its feet as dry fog starts to emanate from the entranceway.
(JB) Looks like we're going to get a few words from our reigning champion.
(Tom) Could he be any more self-serving to have this type of introduction? Trevor Cunning wasn't this self-serving or egotistical.
(JB) Could your man-love of Trevor be any more repulsing?
(Tom) Shut your hole, Man-nut.
As Jada starts rapping the first verse, The Reaper emerges from the entranceway clad in a black trench coat, complete with his bloody Lion's head shirt and black sweats with the Lion Athletic emblem on the sides. He has his Lendo Stick in his right hand and his Foundation Heavyweight Championship on his left shoulder sitting rather comfortably as he smiles, scanning the crowd just nodding his head to the music as he starts down the aisle. He's walking with confidence, as a man of his stature does because he's The Reaper and oh yeah, he's the champ. As he reaches the aisle, he flings the stick and slides in under the bottom rope, with his title clinging to his shoulder as he gets up quickly collecting himself as he takes in the cheers yet as he steps inside, his look changes slightly. It goes from one of confidence to a look of a serious, determined individual. He knows he's in hostile territory, but he's smiling because he knows something that Mike doesn't know...yet. He pulls a microphone out of his pocket as the fans chant his name, half of them booing in support of Mike Stryker.
(The Reaper) Ya know, it feels great being able to not just headline my first ever NAFW pay per view as Foundation Heavyweight Champion, but to do so right here in the World's Most Famous Arena...Madison. Square. Garden.
Big time cheap pop, as Aarons simply nods his head rather solemnly.
(The Reaper) I mean, I saw Mike here a few days ago and I couldn't help but notice that he felt obligated to run off all the famous moments that this place has seen. All of the title victories it has been privvied to witnessing. From 1972 and Willis Reed limping out as the Knicks beat the Lakers. That was a great moment in Knicks history...
Another huge roar as Aarons points up at that banner.
(The Reaper) Then there's one I was actually ALIVE for. 1994. I remember I was Student Council President of my 8th grade class and boom. Rangers not only knock off the Devils in the Eastern Conference Finals in dramatic fashion, they win the Stanley Cup.
Another big time pop by the fans, as Aarons points to that banner and then points to Mark's retired jersey.
(The Reaper) But ya know Mike, all those memorable moments you brought up have one thing in common. There's one common theme with all of what you said.
I think right about here is where the mood's about to change as a famous New Yorker once said...
(The Reaper) It's all a memory. 1972, 1994, all dates of times past. Teams past. Has beens that have not been in how long? Then there's you Mike. Harkening on times that were cause you much like them, have nothing to stand on NOW.
The crowd's starting to turn, not liking how Aarons is dumping on history, their teams or Stryker.
(The Reaper) Because you see Mike, you, much like most of these New Yorkers cling to the past because you both see what reality holds for you. A rather bleak present and a future that's not looking too great either. You talk about Oblivion and how you had your 'Hogan' moment. Well guess what? I hate Hogan. I hate that red and yellow wearing pansy with a passion and guess what? When I think of him, I don't think of him dropping a leg on somebody that was supposed to be the wrestling equivalent of some Iran baddie. I saw someone who was on the verge of putting the game on the map...then crushing a promotion because he had to be the man again. Your grand ‘Hogan’ moment consisted of you being a double champion and yet, you’ve still never had your Foundation Heavyweight Championship moment.
Beat.
(The Reaper) You’ve yet to have your…Reaper Moment.
Short pause, as the fans give him heat for that one.
(The Reaper) You talk about how long you've waited and all throughout the week, I was hoping you'd be smart enough to catch the point behind my sermons to you...but I see you much like most of these yokels are kind of slow on the draw. Which figures, since most of New York is chocked full of morons moving a mile a minute going nowhere FAST.
Oh yeah, that draws massive heat.
(The Reaper) You see Mikey, I've sat back listening and I've been laughing...until now. Because you see, tonight, it is game time. Tonight I show you why I'm the Foundation Heavyweight Champion and you're just about to add another few hundred days or so onto that FHC title less streak of yours. You see, just like another Mike I addressed, you couldn't seem to answer the 'if you're so hot, how come you weren't the person chosen to face Cunning first' question. And let's be perfectly clear on something, you could've dropped that Hush thing at any time. You could've done what you did now. Let someone hold that title while you chase something bigger, but NOOOOOO. You just had to get your belt back. You just had to get your 15 pounds of tin plus flesh to boot. And you did. And while you did that, you're damned right I went after the big drunken fish and gutted him. Oh yeah, since you were probably out all night and didn't catch the end of Death Wish, let me repeat something I said since you definitely didn't hear it, comprehend it or both...go ahead and play that beautiful bean footage.
We cut to the NAFWtron where we get a flashback to the June pay per view. We cut to Lorenzo and Leonard speaking in the locker room prior to Three Wishes.
(Big Daddy) So how are we gonna do this? I mean, I’ve got no problem getting a Wish because I know how much you want to be Foundation Heavyweight Champion.
(The Reaper) Nah man, if it comes down to it and I can’t grab it, you take it. So long as that belt leaves with either of us, it’s all great. We can’t let those Two F(bleep)ed Klowns get the whole ball of wax.
It cuts out there, as we see Aarons standing in the middle of the ring leaning back with a rather curious look on his face.
(The Reaper) Now…maybe he didn’t get that part so let me try doing this again. Roll that footage. Maybe this will jog that memory bank of yours…
We cut to the very end of Death Wish, specifically where Aarons is in the ring barely able to hold his head up and for all intents and purposes, is barely able to stand period.
(The Reaper) When Zo and I talked about tonight – we made plans for every possible outcome – what would happen if we lost, if we only managed to grab a Wish – and if we truly had a shot at those titles.
Zo and I agreed on one thing above all else: Trevor Cunning, you overrated, arrogant junkie – you don’t deserve to leave the arena the Foundation Heavyweight Champion!
We cut back to Aarons in the middle of the ring, who’s now starting to seethe as he shakes his head from side to side.
(The Reaper) You see Mikey, even with you saying a lot, you still manage to prove my point marvelously. I wasn’t content with just walking out of there with a Wish to be used later, because unlike the other two doofs who got wishes that night, Zo and I knew what we wanted and we got it. Keith and Trevor aren’t going to agree on how to use that wish, ole Spazzy and Mike Lane are gonna fight each other for the other wish tonight. So if you want to go all technical about it, we were the big winners in Three Wishes. But let’s get back to tonight and you, Mike.
Quick pause.
(The Reaper) You see Big City M.A.S.H. Guy, I can’t help the fact that much like Patrick Ewing, you were too fragile to compete for the big prize.
Huge heat. Especially when some of those fans think back to the 1999 Finals.
(The Reaper) I can’t help the fact that you weren’t able to tough it out like I did at Death Wish, after a GRUELING Three Wishes match and say ‘ya know what? I’ve waited one thousand, eight hundred and twenty-five days for this…I’m done waiting. I’m going to take the fight to Cunning until Buchanan smartens up and gives me my long awaited title shot’. Nope. You, typical New Yorker that you are talked your talk and walked something totally different. And yeah, I believe that you weren’t going to make a human Molotov Cocktail out of me., because that would’ve required you showing something you hadn’t shown up until this point.
Beat.
(The Reaper) Balls, bitch.
This gets a split reaction, a big time pop from those who are Reaper loyalists, mega heat from the crowd that’s rooting for Stryker.
(The Reaper) And ultimately, that’s what this comes down to. Tonight, that’s what I’m going to show you I have in spades. Tonight, inside of this ring, I will prove to you that what I say is to be taken as if it came from the Lord Almighty Himself. For in this ring tonight, you will bow to me as if I were God. Tonight, I will make up for lost time by putting you down like the pathetic mutt that you are. Let me explain something else to you that you seem to have forgotten. Winning umpteen Intercontinental Championship matches doesn’t make you BIG TIME. It makes you capable of winning a secondary title again and again.
Aarons holds his title up high as he slowly turns facing everyone, showing off his prize as his voice goes deeper and just a little higher.
(The Reaper) THIS is what makes you big time. THIS is what separates the damn great from the great damned. You’re a greatly damned individual Mike who’s too stupid to see it. You were in over your head the first time you went head up with Quiet, thinking that you could take him on your ‘big time’ resume alone. I see history repeating itself here. I will do to you what the Nets have done to the Knicks pretty much since the start of this decade. I will own your ass. I will beat you down, I will hurt you and at the end of the night, in front of your 20,000 fans and people you paid to be your friend…
Another loud heel pop, mixed in with a laugh from the fans who are here to cheer for Aarons.
(The Reaper) You’ll see why everywhere I’ve gone, I’ve held World Title gold. You’ll see why no matter how different the letter arrangement might be, the result’s almost always the same. I win World Title gold, everyone else gets to fight for second and third place behind me. You’re right, I will get a firsthand education on the man they call the Big City Hitman tonight. And I’m fairly certain that when class is over, you’ll be sitting in the corner with the dunce cap on your head while I’m raising the Foundation Heavyweight Championship over mine. The Gospel has been spoken, you will feel the Wrath of the champion tonight.
Aarons drops the mic and strikes his trademark pose as “The Champ Is Here” by Jadakiss blares over the loudspeakers to a rather mixed reaction with more boos being heard over the cheers.
(JB) That was a very passionate message by the champion prior to his first title defense.
(Tom) Ya know, I’m changing my vote. I’m all Aarons tonight. I mean, if he brings what he brought against Zangief tonight to Stryker, I’ll get to see Stryker carried out on a stretcher. That’ll be great.
(JB) Well, Aarons appears to be incredibly focused like never before as he heads into his first ever title defense in Stryker’s backyard.
(Tom) Like he said, Stryker’s ripe for a disappointing night. Aarons all the way.
(JB) Pick one right now.
(Tom) Aarons. No…Stryker. Shut up Mann-wheel.
Charles Johnson vs. Mike Castleberry (XT)
X-Treme Rules
X-Treme Championship
(JB) We saw Charles Johnson try to purchase the X-Treme title from Castleberry, and Castleberry strangely accepted the offer but double crossed Johnson and won the title match and took the money.
(Tom) If I had to guess, I’d say Charles Johnson used his cunning to force Castleberry’s hand in the first place as his bank account mysteriously went empty before he accepted the challenge.
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 foled, staring at the ring, a look of fierce determination on his face. The crowd cheers as he stands, surveying his surroundings.
Its twilight and I wake up hot
My body’s soaked in a cold, cold sweat
I reenact the lurid scenes
And clawed engravings in my head
The first verse of Megadeth's "Die Dead Enough" plays, as Castleberry starts his march down to the ring as the chorus picks up.
Oh, I can’t punch hard enough (and I run)
I can’t kick high enough (and I run)
I can’t shoot straight enough (and I run)
I can’t hold on enough (and I run)
Oh, I can’t stay down enough (and I run)
I can’t take pain enough (and I run)
I can’t bleed fast enough
I can’t die dead enough
Castleberry stands in front of the ring, stretching a bit, crackling his knuckles, then his neck, making sure everything is lose.
The air is thick, but the oxygen’s thin
My heart is beating like a drum, boom!
And ice is flowing through my veins
Explosives on my lips and in my lungs
He hops into the ring, as the lights go back on in the arena, waiting is his corner for the opening bell, the chrorus playing again, fading out.
“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.
(Troy) The following contest is for the X-Treme Championship and will be contested for under EXTREEEMEEE RULES!
Mike Castleberry and Charles Johnson cicle each other for a few seconds, measuring each other up before they both stop and start to stare at each other for a few seconds. Both men turn and slide out of the ring. They lift the canvas from around the ring and begin to pull out objects. Johnson picks up a hockey stick and begins to make his way around to where Castleberry is.
Castleberry pulls out an umbrella and opens it in Johnson’s face, which knocks him off balance for a minute, which is long enough for Castleberry to kick him in the midsection and ram him shoulder first into the steel ring steps. He picks Johnson back up and puts on an arm wringer before pushing him shoulder first once again into the steel ring post. Johnson falls to his knees and Castleberry goes back for another weapon. He grabs a wiffleball bat and goes back for Johnson, but Johnson nails him with a double leg takedown.
Johnson slowly gets back to his feet and attempts to pick Castleberry up off the mat, but Castleberry cracks him with the bat across the temple. Johnson staggers backward as Castleberry gets back to his feet and snaps him with it again, right into Charles' back. Johnson continues to stagger back but still moves as Castleberry charges him, causing Castlebery to smash into the barricade which was set up especially for this match. Johnson rolls back in the ring holding his shoulder. He slides out of the other side and pulls up the canvas once more. He then tosses a couple things into the ring.
Johnson walks around the ring to where Castleberry is once again and takes him by the head, nailing him with a Rib breaker. He then slides him in the ring and follows suit as well. Castleberry and Johnson get back to their feet at about the same time. Castleberry has a cabbage in his hand and Johnson has a kitchen sink. Johnson swings the sink but Castleberry ducks and nails him with the vegetable right in the forehead. Johnson staggers back and Castleberry manages to hit him with another shot that sends him through the ropes. Johnson lands on the apron however and Castleberry stomps him. Johnson gets back in the ring and Castleberry picks him back to his feet. He lifts him up for a powerslam but Charles Johnson tries to shift his weight and their heads collide sending both men to the mat.
After about 6 seconds Castleberry is back to his knees and slides back out. But Charles will not allow him to regroup; he slides out of the ring himself and follows him. Charles double axe handles Castleberry between the shoulder blades, then follows with a kick to his ribs. Then he pulls him by the hair and slams his face into the barricade. Castleberry holds his face and continues walking forward. Johnson stops him, turns him around, and lands a big right hand to Castleberry’s ribs.
Charles takes out a baseball bat from a trash can that was pulled out from under the ring. Mike senses the danger and slides under the ring. Johnson lifts the bat, aiming at Castleberry; he swings to his head, but Castleberry ducks it and tackles him down.
Both men roll around on the floor, brawling. Castleberry grabs Johnson by the head and hammers the back of his head against the floor several times. Then Castleberry gets up and goes over to the trash can near the ring, he takes out a steel chair and throws it down. Then he searches some more and takes out two trashcan lids. Johnson is trying to stand up; the back of his head is busted open. Castleberry takes a trashcan lid on each hand and smashes them against each side of Johnson’s head.
Johnson is dazed but remains standing, then Castleberry repeats the procedure, this time even harder. Johnson goes down to one knee, but still throws some punches to Mike’s midsection. Castleberry then begins alternating trashcan lid shots with each hand to Johnson’s head. After each shot, Johnson goes further down until he falls over. The former Tag Team Champion smashes one of the lids right into Charles’s back and then tosses the lids away; he walks over to the steel chair that is lying down. He picks it up and stands it upright. Then Castleberry leans over and pulls Johnson up. Johnson not only has the back of his head busted, but blood is coming out from the top of his forehead as well. Castleberry headlocks his rival, then he charges with him towards the chair and proceeds to bulldog Johnson face first against the chair. From the impact, the chair gets folded up.
Mike looks down at his bloodied opponent and sadistically smiles. He brings him up to his feet again, and nails him with a vicious backbreaker. Charles holds his back in pain and screams. Johnson is face down on the concrete floor. Blood covers the back of his head and also pours down over his face. He appears almost lifeless, showing no movement. Mike stands up and walks to a ladder. He slowly sets it up and begins to climb it. But to the surprise of all, Johnson gets up. He uses all his energy to quickly get up and rushes at the ladder. Johnson dives onto it, causing the ladder to fall and Castleberry to fly off the ladder, crashing against the floor. This time it is Castleberry’s turns to scream in pain whilst holding his ribs.
The noise from the fans is revitalizing Johnson, blood covers most of his head and face, but he wipes the blood off his eyes and slowly stands up. Castleberry is getting up as well, with a grimace on his face. Johnson goes over to the trash can and takes out two kendo sticks.
As Castleberry gets within range, Johnson smashes one kendo stick into his stomach, and then splatters the other one across his ribs. Castleberry falls to his hands and knees. Johnson then kicks Castleberry full blown in the face causing him to fall back facing up. He has a busted lip and blood coming out from his nose. Johnson leans over Castleberry, placing one of the kendo sticks over his throat, choking him.
Johnson finally gets off his opponent; Castleberry turns on his shoulder gasping for air, holding his throat. Johnson walks over back to the can. He searches for another weapon. A smile sprouts on his face when he sees something. He reaches down and takes out a crowbar. Johnson waits on Castleberry to get up. Johnson is ready, and so are the fans. As soon as Castleberry turns around, Johnson nails him with forehead with the crowbar. Castleberry rotates 180 degrees in the air and crashes unto the floor.
Castleberry is on the floor, holding his head. Johnson leans down and drives the end of the crowbar into his ribs twice. Charles lifts Mike up and nails him with a Snap Suplex. Now Castleberry's the one who isn’t moving. Johnson is down on his knees, breathing heavily. He reaches forward and lets his arm drape across Mike's chest. One. Two. Kickout!
Charles gets up and argues with the referee. Much like their last encounter, Castleberry grabs Johnson’s tights and rolls him up from behind while he argues, using the ropes for leverage. But hey, anything goes right now. The ref slides down and makes the three count!
(JB) Castleberry pulls it out again!
(Tom) But what’s he doing grabbing the house microphone?
(Castleberry) I’m going to make this short and sweet. I don’t know how this happened or who did this to me despite my suspicions, but me and my family have gotten into a bit of financial trouble. I thought I had things covered being back here in the NAFW, especially as a champion and all. But suddenly, when Mr. Johnson here wanted to buy my championship belt… my bank account was conveniently drained, and it went empty at a very bad time for my family.
Castleberry paces around the ring as Johnson gets back up to his feet.
(Castleberry) So Johnson, I don’t know what the hell you did to me and my family or why you did it, but it’s my job to support them and have their backs. So I’m taking that check of yours and I’m going to make sure I can go take care of my own personal family issues. But before I go handle that, I needed to make sure that I could beat you, because Mike Castleberry is the king of extreme. Now I have no choice but to step away from this mess you made for me out of the ring… so while I’m gone, consider your purchase complete.
Castleberry drops the belt on the mat, which Johnson picks up.
(Castleberry) But just know, I will be back for that belt after you or whoever else gets their hands on it is done keeping it warm for me.
With that, Castleberry drops the microphone and walks out of the ring and to the back. Charles Johnson picks up the X-Treme Championship and carries it over his shoulder like he earned the damn thing, and takes it to the back with him as well. The cameras follow, where Commissioner Buchanan is waiting for him.
(Buchanan) You know what Johnson… I’m not sure who you think you are around this place… But no one comes onto one of my shows and buys an NAFW championship belt. So guess what? Consider your purchase with Mr. Castleberry complete, and your score with him even. So while he goes and takes that check of yours to the bank, I hope you enjoyed your two minutes of fame with the title, because as the Commissioner of the NAFW, I am declaring this X-Treme Championship “reign” of yours invalid, and the title vacated. McJohnson, if you will…
With that, the head of security McJohnson grabs the title belt off Johnson and hands it over to the Comissioner while the Corporate Businessman storms off with a pissed off look on his face.
(Tom) It looks like Johnson made a bad investment!
(JB) I’ll say! He can’t be happy about that. He’s lost his money and that belt. Looks like what goes around comes around!
Redemption Begins... Now
The lights of the arena go out, pitch black except for the dim lights along the aisles that illuminate the crowds walkways. Suddenly, a deep voice bellows out three words.
A golden light shines down on the entrance ramp as the curtains part. Golden pyro showers down from above the man, as he walks out in a white robe with golden trimming. He stands there with his arms outstretched as the pyro falls all around him, as the lyrics of the song kick in.
Screaming for you till my throat is numb
I wanna break out
I need a way out
I don't believe that it's gotta be this way
The worst is the waiting
In this room I'm suffocating
Making his way down the ramp, he gets a mixed reaction, as no one seems to recognize him and the crowd is unsure how to react. From the look of it, it appears that the cheers are being piped in through the PA system along with the song.
I take you in
I've died
As the word died is belted out, a loud boom echoes through the arena as the robed man tosses back his hood to reveal a white mask with the same golden trimming and designs over the front.
I wanna live for love, wanna live for you and me
Breathe for the first time now I come alive somehow
Rebirthing now
I wanna live my live, wanna give you everything
Breathe for the first time now I come alive somehow
Right now
Having climbed the steps and stepped between the ropes to enter the ring, the man stands in the center with his arms outstretched as the song slowly fades away, taking the cheers with it.
A silence fills the arena as people whisper back and forth to each other trying to figure out who this guy actually is. The robed man pulls a microphone out and brings it to where his lips should be, as they are covered by the blinding snow-like mask. The same deep voice echoes out through the arena.
(Krystian) Since the rebirth of the North American Foundation of Wrestling, chaos has run rampant through the backstage hallways... Just recently, men have been set ablaze in front of a live audience, women have been brutalized by heathens with no sense of morals, and a ball holds the prestigious Atlantic title.
Boos ring out from the crowd, whether it is because of Wilson being a champion or Krystian is simply boring them to death remains to be seen.
(Krystian) Such travesties should not be allowed, but somehow management has failed to control the situation. This can no longer go unaddressed. The time to put a cease to this lucid behavior is now, before they are allowed to further tarnish the great reputation the Foundation once held. It doesn't matter who you are, or where you think you stand on the imaginary ladder of stature and importance. I am here to shatter that ceiling you believe to be standing upon.
He slowly tilts his head back slightly.
(Krystian) I AM he who has been delivered to rid the NAFW of it's sin. I AM he who has descended upon this ring to give you...
He points out into the audience with his free hand.
(Krystian) ...someone you can believe in. Someone you can put your faith in. Someone to represent what is right and just. I AM...
He lets the microphone fall from his hand, stretching out his arms once more as his voice still manages to fill the arena.
“Krystian”
'Rebirthing' by Skillet once again plays through the PA system, as Krystian lifts the hood over his head and exits the ring. The piped in cheers still causing the crowd to search for those responsible for the applause, only to find no one cheering at all.
Numb-legged Arrival
We cut to the parking lot. Pulling in to a nearby spot is a dark red Pontiac Vibe. Unlike Leonard Aaron's now destroyed car, this one doesn't have any fancy custom license plate. Instead it has a standard New York plate, and a sticker from Avis Car Rental. If it did have a custom plate though, it would probably be 2 GOODS.
But since it doesn't have that custom plate, please pretend that you don't already know who's about to step out of the car. Thanks.
Three of the four doors open almost exactly together, and three people step out. From the driver's seat is Spaz, behind him is Slush and the front passenger is Ammo. As these three close their doors, the fourth door opens.
(Twitch) Why did Twitch have to sit behind Jumbo? Now Twitch's legs are numb!
The Goods begin to retrieve their gear from the hatch at the back of the car.
(Slush) You're the shortest.
(Twitch) But Pez is skinnier!
(Spaz) I was driving.
(Twitch) Twitch can drive!
Ammo grunts. This would be number 13, which is very similar to number 12, but has a subtle difference in the ending. Its closest translation is something along the lines of a completely sarcastic uttering of the word "Right." (Note that "completely" is the result of the subtle difference between 13 and 12, which is "more than slightly" sarcastic.)
(Twitch) Twitch heard that!
(Ammo) Good.
The Goods have all their gear now, and Ammo shuts the hatch. Slush tosses Twitch's bag at the numb-legged manager, who staggers when he catches it. The four men make their way toward the arena entrance.
But none of them notice the large dark red towel that fell out of Twitch's bag, which is now lying on the ground.
VYC vs. Trevor Cunning (TT)
Special Guest Referee: Kyle Cole
(Tom) I hate Twitch.
(JB) Well, if I can remember, Bear – Twitch isn’t too fond of you either.
(Tom) Please, Mann-Wagon… Everyone loves me. Besides, Twitch doesn’t experience emotions like regular people.
(JB) Oh, no?
(Tom) No – the idiot feels colors and sounds like he’s Denis Leary or something.
(JB) Don’t you mean Timothy Leary?
(Tom) No – Denis – the guy has to be high all the time if he thinks he’s believable as a bad ass firefighter.
(Tom) Here he comes – the Interloper Superstar.
(JB) It’s not Kyle Cole’s fault that Cunning came out to interrupt not one, but two appearances!
(Tom) Well, grandpa should’ve taken his ball and gone home a long time ago – now he’s messing with the young, vibrant stallions!
(JB) That’s so… ew.
The crowd explodes again as “Bullet with a Name” by Nonpoint begins blaring through the PA speakers throughout the arena. Just as the lyrics kick in, the Anti-Hero Superstar himself steps through the curtain, bringing a storm of flashbulbs with him. Clad in his zebra stripes – Cole makes the universal motion for calling things right down the middle – the karate chop into an open palm. Cole hits the ring and climbs up onto the top rope – happy to be back in action – even if that only means officiating.
(JB) I, for one, think it’s good to see Kyle Cole back in an NAFW ring!
(Tom) Go stick your finger in a light socket, Mann-Hole.
The intro to “Last Firstborn” by Celldweller gives way to “Machiavellism” by Dir En Grey, signaling the arrival of VYC. What would normally be a showy, fun infused sprint to the top turnbuckle and a leap into the ring is a slow walk, somber, determined and purposeful.
In the ring, VYC gets right in Cole’s face – still unwilling to forgive the Anti-Hero Superstar for sticking his nose in VYC’s business – for keeping him from Trevor Cunning and avenging the Scrapyards.
(JB) VYC better stand back and respect the strips on Kyle Cole’s chest.
(Tom) Respect Kyle Cole – hell, even I’ll give VYC a pass on this.
(JB) Cole’s already shown he’s not going to back down from a fight, Bear.
(Tom) Then let these two idiots beat the good grace of Gord out of each other – Cunning will come and mop up the pieces.
(JB) Like the opportunistic sunuvabitch he is.
(Tom) I think you mean intelligent.
(JB) You weren’t offended by the sunuvabitch part?
(Tom) No, that’s why I like Trev.
Kyle Before Cute is What We Aim For can launch into the beginning of “Newport Living,” Tool takes over with a screeching guitar, signaling the start of “Sober.”
Former Foundation Heavyweight Champion Trevor Cunning stumbles through the curtain, bottle of Jack Daniels raised to his lips. He lowers the handle, spits a mouthful high into the air, and basks, if only for a moment, in the surrounding drunken haze.
While Cunning would typically bask in the vitriol and spite surrounding his arrival – tonight he means business. For what VYC did to his movie-star good looks, for being a cancer in the locker room – he’s gonna pay. And if Kyle Cole gets in the way… so be it. Cunning pulls his polo off and, having taken another swig of Jack, sprints to the ring. He tosses he bottle of Jack over the top rope and slides under the bottom rope.
While Cole goes to collect the bottle – VYC attacks, stomping on Cunning’s chest and neck. Before he can gain an advantage – Cunning blows his mouthful of Jack up into VYC’s eyes, sending the returning bishounen warrior back to the center of the ring, clutching at his face.
Cole immediately gets up in Cunning’s face – questioning him as to what happened to Chang. Cunning shoulder bumps him.
(Tom) You tell him, Trev. You did nothing wrong!
(JB) He might have blinded VYC, Bear.
(Tom) Exactly. He did nothing wrong.
Cunning immediately begins playing dirty – going right for VYC’s eyes and throat. With each illegal maneuver – Cole begins counting – and Cunning reminds him that he, in fact, has until five. After the second series of chokes, where Cunning has VYC’s neck on the middle rope – Cole pushes Cunning off of VYC.
Cole starts pointing to his referee’s shirt – which Cunning then spits on.<
(JB) I don’t know how much disrespect Kyle Cole will take from Cunning before he either gets physical or disqualifies him.
(Tom) Like Cunning’s worried about either, Mann-itoba? Cunning’s not afraid to fight both men.
While Cunning and Cole fight, VYC regains a vertical base in the corner. Cunning rushes in with a shoulder lowered, only for VYC to leap up, and then Oklahoma Roll Trevor. With Cunning on the mat, VYC leaps up and dropkicks him in the skull. Cue two hard kicks to the back. When VYC approaches Trevor next – he mouths off to Cole – giving Trevor time to bury a right in VYC’s gut. A second and a third right stun VYC, and Cunning begins choking VYC, again, against the ropes. At five, Cole tries to pull Cunning off, only for Cunning to push him away and hit a huge overhand chop. A second is caught by Cole, who pulls Cunning around. VYC responds with a dropkick, sending Cunning into Cole. VYC catches him with a roll up, and Cole, hesitantly counts.
He gets one.
(JB) Cole still needs to do his job too.
(Tom) You were the one threatening violence, Mann-wheel. How come Cole doesn’t get to be angry at VYC too?
Cunning rises with a lariat, knocking VYC down. He then pulls him up, irish-whips him, and on the return, throws VYC into Cole.
(Tom) Look at these two idiots, arguing.
(JB) Cunning’s just pulling everyone’s strings here!
Cole shoves VYC. VYC shoves him back. Cunning meanwhile, props himself up in the corner and enjoys. Cole things twice about the encounter – and then steps aside allowing VYC hits a running dive, connecting with a flying leg lariat that brings Cunning to the mat. He rolls to the outside.
VYC bounces off the ropes, leaps onto the top, then rotates in midair, connecting with a diving somersault splash onto Cunning. He quickly gets back to his feet, and then, grabbing Cunning by the hair, smashes him into the steel barricade, and then into the steps.
He rolls in at 8 to break the count.
Now on the outside, VYC kicks Cunning square in the chest. He steps back, runs forward, and hits a diving dropkick into Cunning’s chest – smashing Trevor’s skull back against the steel steps again.
As Cunning rolls away, VYC climbs the steps, and leaps backwards, landing on Trevor with a moonsault.
He rolls in at 8 to break the count – but Kyle Cole won’t let him leave.
Cole pulls VYC into the ring and pushes him into the corner – pointing to the stripes and demanding that the match continue inside the ring.
(JB) I have to admit, it’s nice to see a referee enforcing the rules.
(Tom) Sure - but only after Cunning’s gotten knocked around by VYC’s illegal antics!
Cunning makes it to his feet at 8. VYC goes after him – distracting Cole. VYC pushes Cole into Cunning on the apron, who falls to the floor. Before Cole can retaliate, VYC leaps over Cole to the top rope and to the outside with a diving leg drop onto the prone Godfather.
HOLY SHIT! HOLY SHIT!
HOLY SHIT! HOLY SHIT!
HOLY SHIT! HOLY SHIT!
(JB) VYC DOING WHAT HE DOES BEST!
(Tom) Dry cleaning? Massage? Nails?
(JB) Flying!
Cole heads to the outside – where VYC is slowly recovering. Cunning is barely starting to stir. VYC and Cole start arguing – when Cunning stands up and grabs a steel chair. He winds up, ready to hit VYC – when Chang moves – and Cunning connects square with Cole’s skull.
The Anti-Hero Superstar goes down.
(JB) That’s not going go over well.
(Tom) Eh – no big loss!
VYC doesn’t miss a beat – picking up a chair of his own and chucking it at Cunning’s skull. Cunning stumbles backwards into the guardrail, where a VYC lariat takes him off his feet and into the crowd. He pulls Cunning up and chops him twice, only for Cunning to return the blows with chops of his own. A war of right hands in the crowd is quickly won by the larger Godfather – who then bends VYC back over the guardrail and rains sledgehammer fists into Chang’s chest. Cunning hops the guardrail and jumps onto the Spanish Announce Table, before flying off with an elbow, flipping VYC back into the ringside area.
HOLY SHIT! HOLY SHIT!
HOLY SHIT! HOLY SHIT!
HOLY SHIT! HOLY SHIT!
Cunning pulls cables and starts choking Chang – and that’s when the fun begins. Kyle Cole climbs back to his feet – to find blood running down his forehead. He peels off his referee’s shirt to the delight of the female fans and runs in, kneeing Cunning right in the side of the skull. He gets in the mount position and starts striking Cunning at will, throwing heavy rights and lefts.
VYC pulls Cole off of Cunning and mounts Cunning himself, throwing rights and even knees at Cunning’s skull. Cole pulls VYC off of Cunning and chops him, hard.
(Tom) You’re the referee! Act like it!
(JB) Since when have you been opposed to violence?
(Tom) When Trevor’s the target!
Cole and Chang start brawling back towards the ring, a pair of well placed kicks from VYC stunning Cole enough for VYC to back him up against the ring post. Chang runs toward Cole, only for the Anti-Hero Superstar to lift him into the air and toss him into the ring post, face first.
He then turns his attention to Trevor – who’s trying to crawl away. He pulls Cunning up by his tights, eats a back elbow in response and bails into the ring. Cunning follows, climbing to the top rope on the outside. Cole, the savvy ring veteran, kicks the top rope and crotches Cunning, before chopping him twice and superplexing him to the mat.
He turns just in time to see VYC charging, lowers his head, and backbody drops him onto Cunning. Cole starts posing – only for VYC to dropkick him down into the corner. Cunning grabs the rising VYC and chucks him, shoulder first, into Cole, before falling flat on his face in a flair flop.
VYC is the first to his feet – and takes the rising Cunning down with a spinning wheel kick. He gets up to a teardrop suplex from Kyle Cole, who eats a Boot, and then Rallies, courtesy of Trevor Cunning. VYC pulls himself up in the corner, blocks a Cunning charge with a big boot – and then hits a tornado DDT, Cunning’s skull landing square on Cole’s chest.
He covers.
There’s no referee.
(Tom) What an idiot – taking out the referee!
(JB) In VYC’s defense, Cole tried to take him out first.
VYC climbs to the top, enjoying the applause, and poises himself for the Point 77. Both Cunning and Cole get to a vertical base, groggy – and the shooting star press DDT connects on both men.
Cue the chant.
HOLY SHIT!!! HOLY SHIT!!!
HOLY SHIT!!! HOLY SHIT!!!
HOLY SHIT!!! HOLY SHIT!!!
VYC gets his three – but still, there’s no referee. He heads to the outside, and pulls out a table. Throwing all caution to the wind, he sets the table up on the inside, rolls Cole on top, and then rolls Cunning on top of Cole.
He leaps off the mat, onto both men with a double stomp, and to the top rope. When he leaps backwards, Cunning falls off – but the moonsault to Cole connects. VYC immediately rises to his knees, where Cunning wraps his arms around Chang’s waist. He throws VYC overhead with a German Suplex – VYC landing square on his skull.
Cunning kicks Cole for good measure and then goes to get his bottle of Jack. He measures VYC for a bottle shot – only for the attack to be dodged and retaliated with by a shotei palm strike. VYC again hops to the top rope – but his legs are pushed out by Cunning. Cunning pulls VYC into a Canadian Backbreaker position and hits the Sobriety Test.
When he gets to his feet – he goes down – immediately – courtesy of a Kyle Cole Dreamweaver Deluxe.
Cole covers both men, laying across both at the same time – and counts himself a pair of threes.
(JB) Can the referee win the match?
(Tom) Not against Trevor Cunning he can’t. Against VYC sure.
(JB) Cole pinned them both.
(Tom) Right, but he only beat VYC – he wasn’t competing in Trevor’s match.
(JB) Sigh…
Satisfied, Cole leaves, rolling to the outside and heading towards the back. James Elbourn sprints by him to the ring on his way.
In the ring, we see that when Cunning fell – his arm landed on VYC’s chest. Elbourn looks at the carnage in the ring, and has no choice but to count – he gets to three rather quickly.
(Tom) WOOHOO! Another flawless victory for the Godfather!
(JB) Are you kidding me?
(Tom) Cunning hit the Sobriety Test!
(JB) He certainly looks like a winner.
Cunning is being helped to his feet by officials – still groggy from the Dreamweaver Deluxe. Whether he’s drunk or concussed is completely uncertain.
(JB) Trevor Cunning steals another victory.
(Tom) He stole nothing!
The Plot Thickens...
Classy.
It was the best way to put it as a 2007 Chevrolet Suburban rolled through the parking lot of Madison Square Garden. The rather large American SUV alone was sight on its own, a true testament to American ingenuity and design, with its flowing lines and aggression front billet grille with the classic Chevrolet bowtie on the front. Yet, with its mirror-finished gloss black paint the truck took a attitude all its own with its dark limousine tint on all of its windows and the large twenty-four inch DUB-inspired chrome rims wrapped around a sporty Pirelli low-profile tire. The headlights shine bright as the truck comes to a complete stop in front of several semi-trucks with NAFW trailers attached to the back.
(JB) What is going on here? We aren’t expecting any special guests tonight.
(Tom) Ha! Shows what you know…then again, when are we told anything? We find stuff out like the rest of the boobs in the crowd, we find out as it is happening. But whoever this is…I love that truck.
The driver side door opens as a large black male step out of the truck, closing the door behind him. He stands easily at a massive six-foot-fix and not a pound shy under three-hundred pounds. He’s not slouch by any means but yet, it was never a good idea to stands in his way. The front passenger side door opened as a white male stepped out of the chair, not as big as the first but yet he didn’t lack any size, as he reached up adjusting the black shades on his face. Both men wore black suits with black ties as the driver steps back and open the rear driver side door slowly. A black suit covered his large frame, along with a black silk shirt with a red tie, yet his face was covered by a black luchadore mask, covering all and any chance to see his ethnicity or any facial features. Even his hands are covered with a pair of black Mechinx gloves. He’s not the type to seem that he would need outside protection from anyone but yet, as he stepped forward, the two men stepped to his flank immediate like soldiers, keeping their eyes on a swivel for anything that would compromise their ‘target’, if you will. In his left hand, he holds a black briefcase; to what is inside is anyone’s guess. Reaching into the side pocket of his suit jacket, he pulls out a metallic Zippo light; he flicks the top open and ignites the lighter as a small flame flickers. He holds the lighter up for a few fleeting seconds before flicking his wrist and extinguishing the flame.
(Unknown) “Gentlemen…I do believe we have a public to address.”
(JB) Who the hell is this guy?
(Tom) I neither know, nor do I care. But the with muscle this guy has around, I’m sure he isn’t any one to mess with!
It’s Getting Darker
We open inside of the dressing room of "The Reaper" as this
gets a rather mixed reaction from the fans in NYC following his tirade to open
the evening. Aarons is sitting with a towel over his head, as he sits with
both boots unlaced and his wrestling attire on save for his bare chest which
has the women going wild. He has earphones in his ear as he has his theme song
blaring, getting him in the mood to rumble later on. Not that he needs the
motivation, but it doesn't hurt. As he sits with "Go 2 Sleep" by Eminem, Obie
Trice & DMX blaring out of his MP3 player, the door opens and a set of heeled
boots can be seen entering. The boots walk in closing the door as Aarons is
still oblivious to this person's arrival. As the camera pans back, we see that
it's Vanessa Chamberlain in an all black outfit from the jeans down to the
shirt. As she gets within a few feet of Aarons, she doesn't get to take
another step as L's moderately low tenor voice stops her in her tracks.
(The Reaper) I think you're in the wrong dressing room
Vanessa.
He doesn't even bother to look up, as Vanessa looks down at
her ex who's sunk into his leather couch with the ear pieces still in his ear.
(Vanessa) Nice to see you too.
(The Reaper) I don't recall even acknowledging you being
here as anything short of repugnant. Now what do you want?
(Vanessa) Can we talk?
(The Reaper) We are talking. And right now, I'm barely
in the mood to continue the banter we've had going back and forth. So if
there's something you'd like to say, say it and get going.
He still has yet to remove the towel from his head of the
earphones from his ear. Vanessa is still a few feet away and she takes a deep
breath, before speaking again.
(Vanessa) About last week...I wanted to thank you for
saving me from Stryker. I know that you didn't want to or anything but...
If there was anything that could or would have Aarons move,
that did it. He flips the towel off of his head and there's a rather
incredulous look in his eyes as if he can't believe what he just heard. As he
starts to take the earphones off one ear at a time, his body takes more of an
assertive stance as he leans forward.
(The Reaper) You wanna run that by me again?
(Vanessa) Which part?
(The Reaper) The part where I saved you from Stryker.
(Vanessa) What's to rewind? You did it for...
(The Reaper) Me. I did it for me, not you. Look, that
rat bastard tried to put me through the windshield of my car and he took
property that didn't and never will belong to him as long as I'm the owner of
it. Personally, he could've jammed your head all the way into your shoulders
for all I care. As long as I got what was mine back, it was all gravy to me.
Vanessa has a slightly miffed look on her face. This gives
way to absolute shock and appall.
(Vanessa) You...you don't mean that. I mean,
look, I know we've had a rough go of it the past few months and all...but I...
(The Reaper) See gold and want back on the Reaper
Express? Sorry, train's left the station and your ticket's long since expired.
It's here that he gets up, walking over to his Foundation
Heavyweight Championship which rests on a table as Vanessa is still sporting a
look that's somewhere between utterly stunned and flat out pissed.
(Vanessa) Is it that easy for you to be this cold to me?
I came in here to apologize for...
(The Reaper) Look, first off, if you know me...you'd know
it is that easy. Secondly, what are you apologizing for? For nearly
getting your neck snapped by Stryker? For failing miserably in trying to have
me revert back to Illtown? Or are you sorry that you walked out on me two
years ago and is it reality slapping you in the face every morning that you
wake up with either a cold pillow or some faceless putz next to you knowing
that neither measure up to HALF of what I am.
Vanessa tries to get something out, but before she can, L is
on it. He's getting ever closer to her as his voice gets lower.
(The Reaper) Maybe you're sorry that I did what you
always wanted and you're not there to stick that chest of yours out screaming
to the world 'my man will kick your ass and he's the champ, meaning there's
nothing you can do about it'. Maybe you're sorry that the reality of the
situation is that right now as much as you want to, you know there's not a
single solitary individual in the place that wants to try and take me on. Or
maybe just maybe you...
He smiles as whispers in her right ear, his left arm slowly
wrapping around her waist as he is now standing directly behind her. His voice
drops into a very familiar yet evil tone as he says...
(The Reaper) Miss me?
He starts to lick the back of her ear causing her to run out
in a hurry, as he laughs rather sadistically. He laughs for a few moments
before sighing as he shakes his head from side to side.
(The Reaper) Ahhh, that was fun. Really, really, fun.
He starts to whistle as he heads back to his couch, sitting
down as he laces his boots and reinserts his MP3 as he lays down and puts the
towel back over his head.
(JB) That was really, really...weird.
(Tom) Tell me about it. How dare he grope Vanessa like that.
(JB) He basically revealed that he didn't come down to save her, so much as
retrieve the title. But I'm still not getting why he's so coy about things
with her. She seemed to be genuinely contrite with her apology or lack
thereof.
(Tom) Seeing as you know nothing about women Mann-boy, let me educate you on
something. They don't know what they want. They want night during the day and
day during the night. She wanted L to be evil and now that he is, she can't
handle the fact that he's the champ of the world without her.
(JB) Still, there seems to be something very different about Aarons since that
fire incident. He seems so much...darker than before.
(Tom) How about I try setting you on fire and see how much it darkens your
perspective. I really feel for the poor soul that did it, something tells me
it's gonna be really repugnant.
Beers, Bikers and Balls
We’re going to take a quick little break in tonight’s action packed show while the cage needed for the next match gets set up properly. We open this little scene in a Bar somewhere in Miami. We know its in Miami as a) the announcers tell use we’re going to see NAFW fans enjoying the show in a bar in Miami and b) there’s a graphic which comes up on the screen that reads ‘Live from Miami, Florida’. We scroll around the bar watching people drink their beers and cheer at the screen. We pass a corner of the bar with about 20 guys all dressed up in biker gear. As we scan along to the counter, we see 2 guys sitting in front of a bartender. And when I say 2Guys I mean the former NAFW wrestlers Jackle (the taller one on the left side of the screen with Blue hair and a T-shirt that reads ‘Forget the fighting, we just run away’ on the back) and Menace (the shorter one on the right with Blond hair and a T-shirt that reads ‘Super Moron Brothers’ on its back)
(Menace) Ok, that’s 2 pints of lager and a packet of crisps please.
The bartender nods his head in understanding and Jackle gives a slight cough.
(Menace) Oh I’m sorry Jackle, did you want something as well.
(Jackle) Umm… No I’m fine with the drink I’ve got.
(Menace) So what did you make that ‘please turn your attention towards me’ cough for?
(Jackle) Just wanted you to know that it looks like the match is about to start
(Menace) Really? Which one?
Menace spins around on his chair to view the big TV set up screening Redemption to the bar. I’m sure you would have seen it at some point when we did that pan around the bar at the beginning, I mean it’s a big TV, it’s not easy to miss.
(Menace) I hope it’s the buried alive match, I’m really looking forward to that one
(Jackle) No you idiot, Andy’s match is about to start.
(Menace) Oh right… remember who we have to cheer for?
(Jackle) Yes
(Menace) Good.
There’s a small silence here as the bartender has finally served Menace his drinks, and Menace takes a drink from one of them before continuing on.
(Menace) Could you tell me, cause I forgot?
(Jackle) We’re supposed to be cheering for Wilson, so that with our luck cheering him on he has no hope of winning the match.
(Menace) Right. GO WILSON!!!!!
And so Jackle and Menace start cheering wildly for the current Atlantic champion. Of course, only mere moments from starting this cheering, those biker guys in one of the corners of the bar start to take exception to the 2Guys cheering for a volleyball and start to approach the 2Guys with mean, angry looks on their faces.
(Jackle) Uh-oh
(Menace) Maybe they’re just approaching the bar to order more drinks?
(Biker 1) Now what do you two think you are doing?
(Menace) Um, cheering for Wilson?
(Biker 2) Why would you go and do a thing like that
(Jackle) Well you see it’s to…
(Biker 1) It doesn’t matter, see you guys are cheering for some dumb ball with a face painted on it.
(Biker 3) We can’t have that.
(Biker 4) We only like Real men. Manly men. Men with ripped chests and bulging muscles and…
(Jackle) Dude, why are you salivating from the mouth?
(Menace) It’s almost as if your g…
Menace doesn’t finish off his sentence as he realises that what he was about to say was true. At the same time, so do all the biker guys standing around him, who instantly take a step back from this biker. The guy looks around to realise everyone has come to the same conclusion.
(Biker 4) Oh fudge-cicle! I’ve just blown my cover
(Menace) I bet that’s not all you’ve blown today.
It takes a couple of seconds for the implication Menace made to be processed by everyone, but all of a sudden that mental image of this guy on his knees enters everyone’s heads, and they all start to react accordingly by trying to find the nearest place to puke up the contents of their stomachs.
(Jackle) Oh dude, why would you even think up something like that?
(Menace) Because we have an opportunity to get out of here unharmed while these bikers are throwing their lunches up
(Jackle) Menace, you’re a genius. Head for the door.
And so they do, making a quick break for it and heading for the exit. The problem is that when they get to the door, it opens before they have a chance to reach out for the handle. Standing in the doorway is a guy that would give Hush a run for his money in the tallest man in the world competition. Built like a brick house and wearing biker gear like all those guys attempting to puke their guts out, this Big Biker takes one look around the bar before speaking.
(Big Biker) What is going on here?
(Biker 2) Those two idiots were trying to cheer for Wilson in the upcoming wrestling match
(Big Biker) The Volleyball? I see. I think these two gentlemen should come outside with me and have a little bit of a conversation with Mr. Lefty.
The 2Guys are more dragged out of the bar than go willingly. The door closes after they leave, so we can’t see what’s happening, but we can hear it pretty clearly.
(Menace) So where’s this Mr. Lefty?
(Big Biker) Right here
(Menace) But that’s just your fist OW FOR THE LOVE OF ALL THAT’S DECENT
(Jackle) Did you just break his nose? Wait, don’t…
There’s a loud grunt from Jackle as it sounds like a fist went into his gut area. The sound of fist making contact with the 2Guys and yells and screams of pain coming from outside makes the bikers in the bar a bit more recovered and content on going back to watch the wrestling.
(Biker 1) Better get in a round of beers
(Biker 4) Oh, I’ll have a white wine with lemonade, a slice of lemon and a pink parasol in it.
All the bikers once again look at this guy strangely.
(Biker 4) Or a beer… beer is good.
And with that, we’ve filled up all the time there was available while the stage crew did whatever they needed to do to get the Cage ready for the next match and we can return to ringside ready to watch Wilson and co fight it out for the Atlantic Championship.
Andy D vs. Crazy Boy vs. Snake vs. Wilson (AC)
Snakes On A Cage Match
Atlantic Championship
(Troy) Ladies and gentlemen, the following is the Snakes on a Cage match for the NAFW Atlantic Championship! You may win the match by either pinning your opponent, making your opponent submit, or escaping the cage...
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 through the cage door, not worrying about the snakes on the cage 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.
(Troy) Introducing first, from somewhere in the United Kingdom, weighing in at one hundred ninety seven pounds...ANDY D!
"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, keeping his obviously nervous eyes locked on the snakes on the cage walls. Crazy Boy cautiously enters through the door and looks to go towards the turnbuckle, but stops and instead just thrusts an arm in the air.
(Troy) Next...From Biloxi, Missouri, weighing in at two hundred twenty five pounds...CRAZY BOY!
The opening riff plays as the word and name "SNAKE" flashes across the screen. As the guitars start to pick up, Snake is seen coming out from the back to a chorus of boos from the crowd in attendance. Snake throws his arms up in the air causing green pyro to go off on the stage behind him before he starts to make his way down to the ring. Snake takes his sweet time getting to the ring, showing his appreciation for the fans. When he does get to the ring, Snake climbs through the door, glances over the cage briefly and climbs onto the nearest turnbuckle, throwing his arms up in the air once more to get one last rise out of the crowd before he turns to look at Crazy Boy and Andy D.
(Troy) Now making his way to the ring, from Portland, Oregon, weighing in at two hundred twenty pounds...SNAKE!
Several seconds of nothing pass as Crazy Boy and Andy D look at Snake with confused looks on their faces. Snake, pretending he doesn't know what Wilson has planned just shrugs...
(Tom) Damnit...Where's my favorite wrestler ever!?
(JB) He can't walk by himself, Tom...Maybe Snake thought it'd be best for Wilson to sit this match out...
Suddenly, the lights go out briefly as the opening rifts to "Big Balls" by AC/DC starts to play over the PA system. Just before the first lyric, Wilson, who's now a beach ball, shoots up out of the ground. A stagehand dressed in all black, including a black mask, catches Wilson before he hits the ground. The stagehand brings Wilson, the Atlantic Title, and a new picture of Wilson pinning Crazy Boy