Blood, Sweat & Chairs Wrestling: Venom

[The scene opens to a hallway in the back of the Viking Hall, and a

very anxious Mike Philabaum is seen standing holding to a microphone,

standing in front of an unmarked door. Behind Mike, members of the

production staff hustle and bustle to make sure the show goes on

without a hitch. A preliminary wrestler passes by Mike and stops to

talk to him.]

Jonez: So Mike, whatcha be doin' out here and s[bleep]t?

MP: I'm waiting for Taurus, I was told he was here tonight, and I've

been out here for quite a while, and no sign of life.

Jonez: Why don't you just go in and tell him to get his ass out here?

MP: Sure, that's like trying to french kiss a Rottweiller...

Jonez: Well, since you have no sac, I'm goin' in and if he doesn't

come out... it's on like neckbone.

[BLACK STEREOTYPE POP!]

[Jonez bursts into the room, and the door quickly shuts behind him. A

deafening silence lasts for about thirty seconds than a quick and

sudden thuds. The door is open by the bloody body of S.D. Jonez.

Stepping over him is Taurus, wearing a plain black tee-shirt,

camouflage shorts and his wrestling mask. As Taurus eyes his

handiwork, Mike jumps in the way and pushes the mic into Taurus'

face.]

MP: Any words for Harker as he takes on Spikyjim?

T: Surprise!

"SMAAACK!"

[Taurus hits Mike with a palm thrust straight to his nose, leaving

Mike in a heap on the floor of Viking Hall. The camera turns to

follow Taurus as he walks down the hall, with his hands on his hips as

if nothing had happen. Members of the production staff run to check

on the condition of the hapless reporter.]

[Darkness.]

[And then...]

"BOOM!"

[A flash of light, in perfect synchronicity with the pounding guitars

of Entombed’s "Wolverine Blues".]

#What you believe#

#is the vanity you conceive.#

#What you love you don't pen#

#to put in a cage is to put to an end.#

[We see Whiskey Jakk toss "The Icon Killer" Matt O’Riordan into the

wall of the cell during a Greenhouse Match.

Conversely, we see O'Riordan put Justin Keith, they very heart and

soul of BSCW, through a table set up in the corner of the ring with a

devastating Belly to Belly Suplex.]

#Enamored of the passion#

#life-sucking lust#

#You will never gain my trust.#

["Deadly" Derek Irvin slowly gets to his feet as Whiskey Jakk looms

overhead with a steel chair which has been dipped in glue and covered

with razor sharp shards of glass. DDI ducks a swing, and then sends

the vicious weapon into Jakk's face with a Spinkick.

"Diamond Fist" David Donovan and "The World Turner" Kristoff St.

Livingstone end Kenneth Morlock's career... Donovan tosses Morlock up

with a Rocket Launcher, as Livingstone meets Kenneth on the way down

with a sickening chair shot.]

#I'm a misanthropical breed#

#insatiable in my need to feed.#

[Shrapnel hits a Plancha on Acid Ego Trip and Hell on Earth, knocking

down both teams.

Sykopath makes his triumphant return, nearly taking Despair's head off

with a running Yakuza Kick.

"Vile" Vince Viper sinks his teeth into the flesh of Asama Inoue,

drawing blood from the Japanese sensation.]

#Utterly fearless#

#for your luscious flesh#

#I've got am appetite like a war#

#and I always hunger for more#

[Debonair hit Goo with the Hart Attack Clothesline.

Kill Army hit Tyson Bryson with a Spiked Piledriver... right on top of

his tag team partner, "Hollywood" Matt James.

The scene quickly switches to Despair putting Sykopath through a table

with a Liger Bomb.

Taurus bloodies a handcuffed Coma with "Bessie", his signature barbed

wire-wrapped kendo stick.

Seth Harker takes down Taurus with a Railrunner Spinning Heel Kick.]

#Vicious mammal#

#the blood is my call#

#pound for pound#

#I am the most vicious of all#

[Spikyjim puts an exclamation on the end of Caleb Mandrake's BSCW

career with the Living End.

The Scrayper attacks Spikyjim from behind, firing off round after

round into Spiky's head with a staple gun.

Asama "Gatame" Inoue puts Drone to rest with the Demon Buster Driver.

"Outlaw" Travis LaGrange sends "Diamond Fist" David Donovan crashing

to the mat with a neck snapping Lariat.

Goo crushes Million Dollar Dragon with the Goo Drop.

Chris Pike chairshots Max Caschera and Matt Wilson in his BSCW

debut... and enjoys a POWERade.

Laramee nails Blockbuster Bob with the Underdog.

Blockbuster Bob runs around dressed as Mojo Jojo with El Pollo Loco on

his back... and "Da Cow God" Moo just stares blankly into space.]

[The scene fades to a packed house at Viking Hall in Philadelphia,

Pennsylvania. Every fan is on his or her feet, chanting at the top of

their lungs for their favorite indy promotion.]

"B-SC-Dub!" "B-SC-Dub!" "B-SC-Dub!" "B-SC-Dub!"

[We then zoom in on the ever present BSCW announce team of Matt Heath

and Bil Withonel, at ringside as always. Matt is in his usual suit

and tie, while Bil is sporting a "Eat A Ham, Fatty!" t-shirt.]

MH: Good evening folks, and welcome to VENOM!

BW: Live from the heart of Extreme, Matt!

MH: Damn right! Tonight BSCW will be getting extreme like _no one_

else can!

BW: Feh, especially not those NEO jackoffs.

MH: Bil!

BW: But, yeah. Extreme...

[Sighs.]

... and the flippy bitches.

MH: What my colleague it referring to is the continuation of the

stellat Sky's The Limit Tournament! First we'll see Chris Walker and

Pak of GWC/MPW square off, and then Jaim-

[DARKNESS]

MH: What?

BW: What do you think, dummy?

[The arena falls silent. All is still, all is calm. The big screen

lights the hell up though... with huge, feet-high letters, burning the

following sentences on the crowd's eyeballs.]

BITTER.

TWISTED.

MAD, BAD...

... AND VERY DANGEROUS TO KNOW.

[Cue the Music. "Fiend" by Coal Chamber drones over the PA, and

sections of the crowd cotton on to who is about to step out into the

arena... the screen turns to static again, and a humming noise

supersedes the intro to the music... as another phrase lights up

the screen, in HUGE, gothic white letters...]

THE FUTURE IS BRIGHT...

[Thump. Thump. Thump.]

THE FUTURE IS BLUE.

"BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOM!"

[The hardcore nuts in the crowd pop HUGE. The kids who read the shit

on the net pop HUGE. The Moms and Dads who don't know what's going on

pop HUGE. The guy sitting next to you pops HUGE, but you don't know

why... except you find yourself doing it, standing up, clapping,

whooping with joy... you know what's coming, and it involves the

words "five" and "star" when you talk about it later... the noise

in the arena turns from confused joy to unbridled, orgasmic pleasure

as the one, the only true HARDCORE SHINING LIGHT and LAST OF THE

INDEPENDENTS steps out into a blue spotlight... the music kicks

in... And then y'all remember how much you DESPISE him.]

#It's the darkest place

Underneath the stairs

The IT it comes

And IT takes me there

We take everything in sight

All through the night

Leaving scars

And crashing cars#

[The man himself raises his head. The ring announcer tries to announce

his arrival, but, believe it or not, this guy is such a cult that he

doesn't need it... SPIKYJIM. Ignored by many, hated by more. The

biggest little name in the business. Spikyjim smiles out at the crowd,

genuinely seeming to be pleased by their boos and catcalls. He hits

himself in the chest a few times, and raises his finger to the crowd.

As the lights go up a little, we see his attire in full. Black shorts.

Black, flame design boots. Taped arms. A knee brace holding his left

leg together. Blue, EVIL Spiky hair. A T-Shirt that reads "Future =

Blue" on the front, and "Spikyjim - 1973 - 2002?" on the back.

Spikyjim looks out at the crowd again, and walks towards the ring,

adjusting his knee brace as he goes, and cricking his neck from side

to side.]

#FIEND FOR THE FANS

AND FODDER FOR THE PRESS

FIEND FOR THE FANS

AND FODDER FOR THE PRESS#

[Spikyjim mouths the words to himself, a broad and faintly disturbing

smile spreading across his face]

#It's my life

For everyone to see

For you a charade

For me a disease

Everything in sight

All through the night

Leaving scars

And fucking stars#

[Upon reaching the ring, Spikyjim bows at a couple of Japanese

photographers, who insist on taking a few snaps of the Hardcore

Shining Light... before Spikyjim leaps onto the ring apron and runs up

the ropes, staring out at the crowd and again seeming pleased at the

reaction that he has received, ungodly heat for such a little man.]

#STILL REASONING....

MY LIFE

STILL REASONING....

MY LIFE#

[Now the kids in the front row really are singing along.]

#FIEND FOR THE FANS

AND FODDER FOR THE PRESS

FIEND FOR THE FANS

AND FODDER FOR THE PRESS#

[Spiky raises his singapore cane above his head with childish glee.]

#STILL REASONING....

MY LIFE

STILL REASONING...

MY LIFE

FIEND FOR THE FANS

AND FODDER FOR THE PRESS

FIEND FOR THE FANS

AND FODDER FOR THE PRESS#

[Spiky flips into the ring, and goes down to his knees, flexing his

newly toned muscles and laughing at some of the kids in the front row,

before his face snaps back into one of almost psychotic seriousness.

Spiky's eyes drop to the mat as the song reaches its climax.]

#IT'S DO OR DIE...

IT'S DO OR DIE...

NOT FOR ME!!!!

STILL REASONING...

MY LIFE

STILL REASONING...

MY LIFE

FIEND FOR THE FANS

AND FODDER FOR THE PRESS

FIEND FOR THE FANS

AND FODDER FOR THE PRESS

STILL REASONING MY LIFE...

FUCKER!

[With a crunch of guitars, the song halts... and Spikyjim calls for

a mic. He pauses for a second or two...... before speaking out.]

S: You know, it's kinda funny where we are tonight, wouldn't y'all

agree?

[The crowd let Spiky know just how much they love him, in their usual

style.]

"FUCK YOU SPI-KY!" "FUCK YOU SPI-KY!" "FUCK YOU SPI-KY!"

[Spiky raises his hand to the crowd, flips them off and then holds the

finger to his lips.]

S: Two choices: You listen to ME, the BIGGEST star in this pissy

little federation... or you get to watch an undercard match featuring

a load of guys that you don't care about. You stupid bastards care

enough about me to HATE me... so... shut the [BLEEP] up and recognise

the TALENT stood in this ring... or I'll make Cow and Chicken or

Laramee come out here and...

[Spiky makes the quotation marks with his fingers.]

S: ..."Wrestle". You people think you're the best wrestling fans in

the world, do you? All knowing, all appreciative? The biggest and

best fans that this sport has ever known? All I've ever seen you

motherf[BLEEP]s do is stand up, whooping and hollering as another no

name Mexican or doped up, starry eyed kid gets dumped through a table

or blasted with a chairshot. You people KNOW NOTHING... hell, you

people ARE NOTHING. I'll bet that there are kids here tonight who

will get ERECT at every busted table, every bloody nose, every

loosened tooth... PATHETIC. I'll also wager that when I beat Seth "I

need a feud bad, so I'll piss off the REAL AMERICAN PSYCHO" Harker

tonight through WRESTLING and WRESTLING alone.... that every single

last one of you people will go home with a tear in your eye, sad that

you didn't see me break a cane over Harker's head, or blow the blue

mist... no triple jump LIVING END, no drunk driver through a table...

HOW CAN YOU PEOPLE EVEN LIVE?

[Spiky shrugs as the crowd boos louder and louder.]

S: But of course... Seth Harker can wait, because he's just a small

bump in the road that this lil' WRECKING MACHINE will just steamroller

over... because lil' Jimmy has bigger fish to fry.

[The crowd starts chanting, and it seems to be split down the

middle...]

"WHI-SKEY!" "SCRAY-PER! "WHIS-KEY!" "SCRAY-PER!"

[Spiky wags an unappreciative finger at the crowd.]

S: Now... you see, you people never tire of the same crap over and

over again, do you? Richard Vail has his favourite wrestlers, and

your precious little owner likes to round them up to beat me down...

and that's fine, because I get who I want in the ring... and now

getting what I want means getting two of the most overrated WASTRELS

in the history of the Earth in the squared circle with me, Cleveland's

favourite son. And you know what? One of those guys holds the BSCW

TITLE BELT.

[A quick scan of the crowd reveals hundreds of Whiskey Jakk signs.]

S: Ah, Philly. You know, you're so proud of tradition here... well,

when one of you people goes to watch a BIG SHOW in a BIG ARENA... hold

on, are there any big arenas here in Pennsylvania? Anyhoo, maybe one

of you people will go to a REAL SHOW from a REAL COMPANY... and if you

just hold off long enough... you'll be able to see me. I'll make a

point of carrying the BSCW title with me at all times... from that

very moment that I walk into THE BIG LEAGUES with it around my waist,

slamming all of you slackers on live TV... to the moment that I lose

it after a drunken celebration from winning a PROPER prize in a DECENT

federation.

[Oh yeah, the crowd love that.]

"BSCW!" "BSCW!" "BSCW!" "BSCW!"

S: Oh yeah, BSCW... and I'm sure when you're all sat up in the

rafters in a big arena, or watching me on pay per view... you'll be

chanting "YOU SOLD OUT". You people are tired, predictable and

BORING. Best fans in the world? Y'all can KISS MY BLUE ASS.

[Spiky bends over, gesticulating at the crowd... he stands up,

smiling... and he takes out his trusty cigarettes, lighting one up and

blowing smoke out of the corner of his mouth.]

S: Tonight, you'll see me out-wrestle Seth Harker. Because I can...

because I'm just RAW TALENT, something you guys don't appreciate. I

have EVERYTHING that you people want. A good body. Money. A house

that doesn't belong to my parents. A car. A hot wife. Tattoos.

Scars. Deep down in your souls you people KNOW that I am the BEST

THING THAT EVER HAPPENED TO BSCW. I can wrestle, I can brawl.... you

think that just because I'll out-wrestle Seth Harker, that I won't be

able to beat the living tar out of Whiskey Jakk? I will. And you

know what? EVERY LAST ONE OF YOU PEOPLE KNOWS IT... you EXPECT me to

beat Whiskey Jakk, not just turn up and pull out a shock win.

[Philly fans being what they are, some applaud Spikyjim. He sneers at

them.]

S: Thanks, but I don't do this for applause. I do it for money and

fame. So shut the f[BLEEP]k up.

[Spiky exhales some more smoke, and sits down in the centre of the

ring as the fans roar with derision.]

[Spiky smiles back at the crowd.]

S: No. You people need to learn. Whiskey Jakk... sure, he's a

hardcore hero and all... but how do you think he got where he is?

Talent? Skill? Oh yeah, the boy has talent, so I hear... the sort of

talent that Vail would pay a lot of money for. Face it, Divine Brown

has NOTHING on little Mister Jakk, does she? One WHORE to another,

one man SELLING HIS SOUL to get what he wants... you think I'm a

sellout? Whiskey Jakk without his friends on the board of

directors... well, he'd just be another clown registered under the

broad banner of...

"SPIKYJIM'S UNDERCARD"

... Y'know, I love it when people try to make me look bad... because

Jakk's reward was a match with my best friends, Despair and Travis

LaGrange. And they don't like seeing their buddy being put down by a

talentless hardcore hack like you, Jakk. They see it as a slap in the

face. So when Travis drills you with the Eagle Claw, and Despair

locks on the Human Torment... just look up. There I'll be. Watching

over you piss your career away as you get real nervous real quick, as

the realisation of what you've done creeps into your mind. You pushed

me too far, and I already hated you. Well done. Better hope Sykopath

isn't too much of a coward to ever leave your side, amigo.

[Spiky exhales some more smoke, with the fans booing him more and more

every time he opens his mouth...]

S: Hey, I've got all day. SHUT UP and respect what I do. I don't

come to where you people work and abuse you, do I? Hold on, hold

on... I've had my fair share of arguments in McDonalds, Wendy's,

Arbee's, KFC, Taco Bell... maybe I've punched one of you scrawny

bastards in the face before, right? Who cares... after all, you're

all just BODIES in the end, pointless carcasses filling up my world

and stealing my air...

[Spiky flips up to his feet. He holds a hand to his face, feigning

shock.]

S: Hey wait... surely somebody will come out here and shut me up,

right? Whiskey Jakk? Is he coming out? The golden boy of BSCW?

Heck no... because he's scared. He's a goddamn little pussy... did

you see the FEAR in his eyes last Venom when I stepped out into the

arena? He nearly pissed his pants. And where's his little buddy?

His guardian angel? The third member of the Vail / Jakk love

triangle? Oh yeah, I know where he is. You're out back, aren't you,

SCRAYPER?

[Crowd pop at the mention of Spikyjim's nemesis. They start to chant,

and Spiky starts to lose his cool exterior a little, holding his ears

and jumping up and down.]

"SCRAY-PER'S GON-NA KILL YOU!" "SCRAY-PER'S GON-NA KILL YOU!"

S: SHUT UP! SHUT UP! SHUT UP! SHUT UP! I was not SCARED, I was

STUNNED....

[Spiky starts to talk softly into his mic, almost as if he's talking

to himself.]

S: I thought that motherf[BLEEP]r was dead... little f[BLEEP]g

bastard... maybe I'm not the only one who always lands on his feet,

the only one who always bounces back...

[Spiky shakes his head and goes back to speaking normally... if that

is what you call his high pitched whine.]

S: Hey there, mask boy! You may think you freaked me out... but you

think that revealing yourself to me makes me more afraid, or more

determined? You think that opening yourself up doesn't make you

vulnerable? That I can't exploit your every weakness? You may know

me, Scrayper... but I know you just as well. I should have known...

when you beat me at Bloodfest that there was a hidden agenda. And

soon... well, you'll be wishing that you could have just stuck to

defending that belt of yours against ass clowns like Laramee...

because for all your mystery and mystique... you're still just a man.

[Spiky pulls out his keys, and there is something glistening attached

to them... metal, by the looks of it.]

S: Whats the matter, BOY? Don't want to come out here? Worried

that you've given away too much? You may have thought that the shock

of seeing your eyes behind that mask would have killed me... but all

it did was remind me how much I want to KILL YOU.

Piece of s[bleep]t.

Proud that you wiped my blood over your face, are you? That you made

me bleed? That you did what you never managed before? That you beat

me? Well done. Want some more? Another taste of the mayhem? The

madness? The psychosis?

[Spiky jiggles his keys... the glistening object is an exacto knife...

Spiky flicks the stumpy little blade out and holds it to his head.]

S: See my blood, Scrayper? Huh?

[Spiky cuts himself deeply with the blade, laughing his ass off as he

does so. Blood instantly starts to cascade down Spiky's face.]

S: COME AND GET IT, HONEY! EVERYBODY WANTS A PIECE OF SPIKYJIM, WHY

NOT TRY AND DRINK FROM THE FOUNTAIN AGAIN? HUH? JAKK? YOU WANT A

PIECE OF ME? HUH? SETH HARKER? HUH? ANYBODY? EVERYBODY?

YOU PEOPLE WANT HARDCORE?

I AM HARDCORE.

YOU WANT A WRESTLER?

I AM A WRESTLER.

YOU PEOPLE WANT SPIKYJIM?

You got more than you can handle.

THE FUTURE IS BRIGHT...

THE FUTURE...

IS...

BLUE.

[Spiky rolls out of the ring, snapping the knife back into his pocket

and mumbling to himself as he stumbles back to the locker room with

"Fiend" playing in the background.]

MH: What the hell was all that about?

BW: HE KNOWS WHO THE SCRAYPER IS!

MH: Well, that was pretty apparent from the last edition of Venom...

BW: He said he was STUNNED, not scared.

MH: Oh yeah, it really looked that way, didn't it? And now that blue

haired little bastard is still trying to yank Whiskey Jakk and the

Scrayper's chain? He is TRULY insane.

BW: Was that ever under debate?

[Backstage. The locker room.]

[The pounding beats of MC Hammer's "Pumps and a Bump" greet us. Who's

that big guy dancing around? Why, it's everybody's favorite out-of-

shape by not out-of-work movie geek, Blockbuster Bob! His manboobs

jiggle chaotically inside his blue Blockbuster Video golf shirt, and

his enormous stomach occasionally pops out from underneath, showing

off it's hairy, cream-white goodness. It looks like kinda like a

dartboard with all those stretchmarks, a lint-filled bellybutton being

the bullseye. YUM!]

BB: Pumps and a bump! Pumps and a bump! We like the girls with the

pumps and a bump!

[Bob breaks into the Flabbage Patch, his really slow version of the

Cabbage Patch, bumping his hips back and forth as close to the beat as

he can. He attempts the trademark Hammer jump-and-spin, but just skips

in a circle.]

BB: Stop! Ham Time!

[Bob turns off his CD player and unwraps the tin foil of his ham and

cheese sandwich. He sits down and watches one of the BSCW monitors,

since there's ALWAYS something good on. Bob goes to take a bite of his

sandwich...]

BB: ... Oh my god!!

[Bob drops his sandwich and barrels out of the locker room. If Bob

isn't taking his sandwich with him, this MUST be serious!]

[Open.]

Travis LaGrange and Despair, in the Suicide Kings' locker room. We

catch the tail end of a conversation...]

TL: Got our work cut out tonight. They ain't that talented or

smart but tough... real tough.

D: Yeah, but when did that ever stop us?

TL: Yeah, true.

D: Anyway, I got a small part of it covered. Bit of a surprized

planned.

TL: Really... [Notices camera.] Get that out of here.

[Abruptly, we fade.]

[We open to darkness, then fade into a match from another

federation. Due to legal restrictions, all names of the fed are

blurred out, because Rich Vail is a cheap bastard who can't

afford the lawsuit that would be instantly seen otherwise.]

MJ: Excellent counter by Chris Walker... he saved himself from

an almost certain defeat!

[Walker gets to his feet and starts yelling at Pak again, like

he has all match. The crowd boos as usual as Walker yells

something to his valet, resulting in Rachel Edwards moving

towards the ring...]

[HEEL POP!]

VW: And look at this! Rachel Edwards is up on the apron,

distracting the referee!

[With the referee's attention turned to trying to get Rachel off

the apron, Chris Walker slides out of the ring and pushes Jimmy

Evans Jr. off his chair, folding it up and sliding back into the

ring. As Pak stumbles around, Walker goes to wind up...]

"CRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAACCCCCKKKK!"

[HUGE FACE POP!]

VW: PAK KICKED THE CHAIR INTO WALKER'S FACE!

MJ: NOOO!

[As Pak drops into the cover, the referee turns around and

starts making the count.]

ONE!!!

TWO!!!

THREE!!!

[DING! DING! DING!]

MJ: What a travesty!

[...]

[And we fade from the earlier scene, to a closeup of the man

himself. The only man who anyone gives a damn about. The man

whose very name will lure twice the normal number of fans in to

watch this craphole of a fed's show tonight. None other

than...]

[Chris Walker. The only TRUE Phenom in wrestling today.]

[Your new hero is wearing a pair of bright orange latex pants

and a black t-shirt that reads across the front, quite simply,

"I'm the Phenom... WHO THE HELL ARE YOU?!" His long hair is

tied back tight into a ponytail, and Walker wears your typical

generic shit-eating grin of confidence. His location is

somewhere backstage, a television monitor in front of him,

paused at the exact spot where the tape stopped.]

[But locale is of no importance. Neither is Pak. Nor Whiskey

Jakk, or whoever the champion of this pathetic excuse for pro

wrestling happens to be. Because no one tuned in tonight for

any reason other than the Phenom. Really. Just ask him.]

CW: Bravo, Pak. Bravo. Good show.

[Walker claps mockingly.]

CW: But video doesn't lie, kiddo. It took a chair to put me

out. An illegal object, behind the referee's back. How dare

you brag about your victory over me when it came so cheaply...

[He chuckles to himself, slightly amused.]

CW: And trust me, you'll brag. I _know_ you'll brag. You'll

boast. You'll tell that lovely wife of yours how proud of

yourself you are, and how she should be proud of you. Hell,

Jersey Pak, you beat Chris Walker. You beat the Phenom. The

greatest goddamn talent in this business today.

[He smiles.]

CW: And all the Phenom's ever done to you is humiliate you

handily in the other two facades of matches we've had, make you

doubt your own abilities, take your woman from you, make sweet,

passionate love...

[He winks.]

CW: Before I forget... Zoe, after the show, say, one-thirty?

Call me, sweetheart.

[Walker laughs, as somewhere else backstage, Pak's beautiful

wife is shuddering and surely being comforted by her pathetic

excuse of a husband.]

CW: Eh, we'll call a spade a spade. Start all over. But

_here_? In this godforsaken place?

[He shakes his head.]

CW: Blood, Sweat and Chairs Wrestling. A...

[Walker visibly shudders.]

CW: ... "hardcore" federation. A federation where people like

you, Pak, the dirty cheaters in this business who rely upon

chairs and illegal tactics, can thrive...

[Again, a shake of the head in disgust.]

CW: But not tonight, kiddo. Not tonight.

[He stands from his chair, looking at the video screen, where

Pak has his arms thrusted into the air in what surely is the

proudest moment of his wrestling career... a pointless, cheap

victory over a true talent like the Phenom.]

CW: See, tonight, I'm going to bring something special to this

place of pathetic garbage wrestling. I'm going to bring a

_true_ wrestler. Classic technical wrestling at it's finest.

[He smiles.]

CW: Oh, don't get me wrong. I'm gonna cheat. I'm gonna cheat

like the dirtiest sonuvabitch you've ever seen. Everyone knows

I'm gonna cheat. The sorry promotors who booked me in this

tourney. The pathetic fans in attendance. Hell... even the

talentless referee knows I'm gonna cheat.

[A look of disgust crosses his face.]

CW: But one thing I'd never do, Pak... is use a chair. I'd

never kick a chair into your face. I'm better than that. I

don't need the garbage tactics used by the worthless grunts in

this joke of a federation. Whiskey Jakk? Blockbuster Bob? Cow

and Chicken?

[He shakes his head.]

CW: Pak... you fit right in, pal. Another pathetic gimmick,

relying on minimal talent to achieve things you should never

achieve. A broken man, a man who lived out his greatest fantasy

in another federation that yours truly _saved_.

[He nods acknowledgement, the grin appearing on his face once

more.]

CW: But you don't get it, Pak. I've been laughing at you for

months now... and you still don't get it. I don't care about

wins and losses. I don't care about BSCW, or NEO, or this

godforsaken...

[Another shudder.]

CW: ... "Junior" tourney. I only care about one thing, Pak...

... making your life a living hell.

[He smiles.]

CW: I joined this tourney because of you. My agent and lawyer

pulled some strings to ensure I don't have to waste any time in

toying around with you, taking you out of action... then taking

your beautiful wife out for another night of true pleasure.

[He ponders this for a moment.]

CW: But ya know, Pak. After I beat you... and rest assured,

there will be no such flukes this time around... maybe, if these

pathetic peons are lucky... I'll stick around for the rest of

the tourney and show them what a "real" talent is all about.

And when the evening ends, Jersey Punk, you will realize, once

again, that without bringing a chair into the ring and attacking

me violently without provocation... you can never beat me.

Cause I'm the Phenom...

[Cocky grin.]

CW: ... and you're not.

[He winks at the camera.]

CW: You know my cell number after the show, Zoe.

[And he leaves through the door to the locker room, about to go

teach Pak a lesson in respecting one's superiors.]

[Fade in.]

[Backstage, we have the Jersey Devil, Pak, sitting on a stiff, wooden,

locker room bench. Beside him stand Zoe, his lovely redhead wife.

The New Jersey native looks a little upset, taping up his wrists with

green tape.]

Z: Jake, this isn't good.

P: Zoe, I all ready told you. I'm not going to stand for this junk.

Z: You signed a contract though...

P: I don't care. I still have my morals.

[Zoe sits down, and stares her husband right in the eye.]

Z: We're going to lose _A LOT_ of money if you do.

P: Is that's more important than my morals?

Z: No, but...

[Pak stands, ripping the tape as he finishes wrapping his hands. His

light blue eyes wax solemnity.]

P: No buts. I am going to do the right thing, but I'm also going to

make sure I do the right thing by you...

[Zoe's getting a little teary eyed, but before she can shed anything,

Pak is off camera, missing that little twinkle slide down her cheek.]

MH: And next up is another of our "Sky's the Limit" tournament

matches...

BW: Held in conjunction with the canucks?

MH: If you mean NEO, then... yes.

BW: Who the hell did you think I meant? The hockey team?

MH: Erm... the match, please. Over to the ring.

[The camera quickly flashes around the crowd... and it finds a couple

of "GWC / MPW" and "A1 PRO" signs amongst the hardcore BSCW fans,

appreciating all that perform for them]

JL: The following SKY'S THE LIMIT tournament match is scheduled for

one fall... introducing first... accompanied by his agent, Rachel

Edwards... from Seattle, Washington... he weighs in at 234 lbs... he

is THE PHENOM... CHRIS WALKER!

[The beautiful Ms. Edwards appears first through the curtain, leading

out her neon green tighted client, Chris Walker... Walker pulls some

of his stray wet hair from his eyes and stares at the crowd, his face

cracking into a sarcastic smile as he makes his way to the ring to the

strains of "Time is Mine" by Tony Iommi and Phil Anselmo. He rolls

into the ring, and warms up in a corner as Ms Edwards paces around on

the outside of the ring, looking confident.]

BW: WHOA! WOULD YOU LOOK AT THAT!

MH: Yes... for once, I would agree with you. Rachel Edwards is a

striking looking young woman.

BW: Not that... look at those tights! NEON GREEN! YEAH!

MH: I thought Mister Vail made it clear... you are NOT to smoke crack

before matches. Ever.

JL: And his opponent... accompanied to the ring by his wife, Zoe....

hailing from Jersey City, New Jersey... he weighs in at 196 lbs.... he

is the JERSEY DEVIL... PAK!

[The lights dim slightly as "Aerodynamic" hits, cueing several strobe

lights to flash on and off, green and neon black swirling every which

way. And now, the Jersey Devil, Pak walks out behind the curtains, a

smile on his face.]

[Pak heads out to the top of the ramp, getting a good response from

the crowd as he crouches down, whipping his head wildly up and down.

Finishing off his tag mark Headbanger maneuver, Pak raises and arm and

takes a quick glance left and right.]

[Moving down towards the ring, Pak stops a couple of times, bolstering

with the fans before sliding into the ring. There, Pak hops up to the

second rope on the closest turnbuckle, and begins to do a second,

slower Headbanger in tune with the music.]

[As the music dies down, Pak hops down from the turnbuckle with a bit

of a turn, and leans back against the turnbuckle.]

MH: Pak is one charismatic individual... he could well go all the way

in this tournament.

BW: Really? Just looks like another goofy kid to me, hombre.

MH: And these guys are no strangers... they have just had a great

match in the GWC/MPW promotion, and have a great knowledge of each

other from their time together in the A1 PRO federation...

BW: Know each other? KNOW? These guys HATE each other!

MH: Well, that as may be but...

BW: WHOA!

[Walker runs at Pak from behind and clotheslines the Jersey Devil

right over the top rope!]

BW: I LOVE DIRTY TACTICS!!!

MH: HOLD ON A MINUTE!

[Pak has held on to the ropes... and Walker doesn't realise, turning

his back on Pak as the Jersey Devil hauls himself back into the ring.

Pak flips onto the top rope and springboards back as Walker turns

around...]

MH: SPRINGBOARD CROSS BODY!!!

BW: HAS HE GOT HIM?

ONE!!

TWO!!

TH-

MH: NOPE! Chris Walker popped right up there!

[Pak flips up to his feet, as does Walker. Walker runs at Pak but Pak

cartwheels out of the way... Pak leaps onto the second turnbuckle and

flips back off with a dropkick. Walker backs into the corner, holding

his face, as Pak bounces up and down in the opposite corner,

exercising, headbanging and challenging Walker to get up!]

BW: Walker is better than this fly-by-night kid...

MH: But Walker needs to slow Pak down... Walker is a methodical...

some would say OLD SCHOOL wrestler...

BW: I don't think Walker even knows what a twisting sukihara is.

MH: I don't think YOU know what a twisting sukihara is....

[Walker gets to his feet, cracks his neck from side to side... and

runs at Pak with a lariat.... but Pak ducks, and slides through

Walker's legs. Walker turns around into a cartwheel flip kick from

Pak, knocking him back into a corner... Pak then does a handstand,

locks his legs around Walker's head and tosses him right out of the

corner!]

MH: GREAT AGILITY FROM PAK!

BW: Pfft.

[Walker again pops right back up, but Pak takes him down with a

Japanese arm drag. Walker comes back again but gets dropped with a

drop toe hold...]

MH: Walker's neck just bounced off that bottom rope!

BW: And he's just lying there! MOVE, DAMMIT!

[Pak runs and jumps onto the top rope, spinning in mid air and hitting

one of the HIGHEST guillotine legdrops in Living Memory!]

MH: WHAT ELEVATION!!!

BW: HE'S GOT HIM!

ONE!!

TWO!!

THR-

BW: WALKER IS TOO DAMN TOUGH!

[Pak beats the mat in frustration, but gets to his feet and pulls

Walker up with him. Pak kicks Walker in the gut and as Walker doubles

over, goes for a Rocker Dropper... but Walker stands back up... Pak

lands on his feet and ducks a Walker lariat... but Walker drops to his

knees and LOW BLOWS Pak as Ms Edwards leaps onto the apron,

distracting the referee!]

BW: Yes! Yes! Smart move!

MH: Illegal move, some might say...

BW: We'll let the courts decide that...

[Walker gets to his feet, supporting himself on the ropes to get his

breath... before stomping repeatedly on Pak's head and torso with more

and more gusto. As he finishes, he wipes his brow, flicking the beads

of sweat onto Pak as the crowd boos him loudly.]

MH: Hey, I think I know who the crowd want to win this match...

BW: Shut up. They're all INGRATES.

[Walker blatantly jabs a thumb into the eye of Pak, who goes down to

the mat, clutching his face.]

MH: Oh for the... was I the only person to see that? WAKE UP,

REFEREE!

BW: See what?

[Walker picks Pak back up, grabs him from the front... and nails an

effortless and perfect belly to belly suplex that sends the Jersey

Devil halfway across the ring. Walker sits himself back up, and

stares out the fans, shaking his head.]

BW: You tell 'em Chris... THEY'RE NOT WORTHY!

MH: Neither are you... on so many levels.

BW: But c'mon... how great was that!

MH: Sure, it was a great suplex. But why does Walker have to cheat?

We all know he's a hell of a wrestler.

[Pak is to his feet now, but shaky... as Walker runs across the ring

and nails Pak with a textbook spinning heel kick, before stomping on

the back of Pak's knee and back... and then lifting Pak up with a

shinbreaker.]

MH: Walker is methodical to the last...

BW: And now he's slowed Pak right down! That's the way to do it,

dammit!

[Walker grabs Pak's leg and tries to lock on a figure four leg

lock...]

BW: Here we go...

MH: HOLD ON A DAMN MINUTE!

[Pak grabs Walker and rolls him up for a pin...]

ONE!!

TWO!!

THR-

MH: WALKER POWERS OUT!

BW: And now he's ANNOYED...

[Walker gets up first, and rakes the eyes of the rising Pak... Pak

claws at his own face as Walker boots him in the gut and nails him

with a backbreaker.]

BW: And now he's softening Pak up for the GREATNESS PERSONIFIED....

MH: Isn't it a little early?

BW: It's never too early...

[Walker hoists Pak up for a vertical suplex... he adjusts his position

somewhat though and hits Pak with a mighty FALCON ARROW!!! Into the

pin!]

ONE!!

TWO!!

THR-

MH: NO! NO! NO! PAK KICKED OUT!

BW: The little son of a....

[Walker picks Pak up...and shoots him into the ropes. Pak ducks a

clothesline, and on the rebound Walker bends down for a back body

drop... Pak checks his stride... and JUMPS ONTO THE BACK OF WALKER!]

MH: OH MY... He's standing on Chris Walker's back!!!! My good god!

BW: Hold up...

[Walker starts to stand up... and the entire arena stands up in awe as

Pak adjusts his position.... UNTIL HE IS STANDING ON THE SHOULDERS OF

CHRIS WALKER!]

MH: Would you look at that balance...

BW: Hey, even I appreciate that...

[ANTICIPATION...]

MH: OH... MY... GOD.

BW: RANA! RANA! WAS THAT A HURRICANRANA, A SUPERCANARANA.... WHAT

THE F[bleep]K WAS THAT!?

MH: All I know is... well, Pak took himself from standing on Walker's

shoulders to bringing the Phenom down with the most death defying

hurricanrana I have _EVER_ seen. And I've seen a chickencanrana.

[The crowd is on their feet, applauding the Jersey Devil, who stands

up and looks at them.]

"HO-LY SHIT!" "HO-LY SHIT!" "HO-LY SHIT!" "HO-LY SHIT!"

[... But something seems to bother Pak.]

BW: What's up with him?

[Pak looks... DISGUSTED with the crowd... covering his ears up and

shaking his head in part confusion, part rage... he slides out of the

ring, grabbing his wife and heading up the aisle as the cheers for Pak

turn to confused heat...]

MH: Where the heck is Pak going?

BW: Aww, poor baby don't like a little bad language?

[The referee shrugs his shoulders... as Chris Walker instructs him to

count!]

MH: And Chris Walker knows his rules... he wants to win this match BY

ANY MEANS NECCESSARY!

[The ref starts to count as Pak starts to disappear from view]

ONE!!

TWO!!

THREE!!

FOUR!!

FIVE!!

SIX!!

SEVEN!!

EIGHT!!

NINE!!

TEN!!

"DING! DING! DING!"

JL: Ladies and gentlemen, the winner of this match as a result of a

count out... CHRIS WALKER!!!!

MH: What the... well, that plain doesn't make any sense whatsoever...

BW: Who cares! Walker won! Wooo!

["Time is Mine" replays as Walker soaks in the boos of the fans...

booing both him and the cheap way the match ended. We then fade.]

[Fade in.]

[We find ourselves gazing upon a beautiful sight; a golden sunset

dancing on the horizon over the top of a huge body of still water.

The golden autumn shimmer shines across the water’s surface, painting

it a similar golden hue. Looking around we find a sign indicating

that this is Lake Erie and we are in Pennsylvania. Near the sign,

nearer the water’s edge and under a large tree we see a familiar

figure: a small Chinese man sitting very still, staring out to the

lake. He is in a trancelike state, his mind obviously on other

things. The man?]

[Blade Jin.]

[A gentle breeze flows through as the water gently ripples in harmony.

Blade doesn’t move; he seems to be contemplating something. Perhaps

the two losses he has freshly suffered. To come to a new country and

try to start a new life, you don’t want to start out with a hundred

percent losing trend.]

[Once in the rumble.]

[Once to Brian Deegan.]

[Could it be that he made a mistake? Perhaps...]

"Ksssshhhh wukshhhhh."

[The gentle rustling of trees can be heard in the background, but

Blade continues to sit. Still not conscious, but still awake; he sits

alert in a state of almost meditation. But wait, if coming here was a

mistake, why is he still here? Surely he could go back to Hong Kong

if he wanted to. He could fit back in, go back to _THAT_ life.]

[But he’s still here.]

[Blade looks to be concentrating slightly harder. If he made a

mistake then why is he here in Pennsylvania? Is he stupid? Stubborn?

Scared?]

[Or is he just ready?]

[Granted, he’s still a fair way from Philadelphia, but he finds

himself completely ready for the challenge ahead. The challenge of

redeeming his first two losses. The challenge of achieving his goals

and claiming the honour ahead.]

[Slowly Blade nods to himself in acknowledgement of what he has just

realised. He climbs to his feet and, with a final look at Lake Erie,

turns and walks out of view.]

[End. Blackness. Nothing.]

[COMMERCIAL BREAK]

[Backstage. Kristoff St. Livingstone, the newly dubbed "Young

Hellion~!", and his burly associate, Vlad Stukovski stand by. Kristoff

looks annoyed, as the stoic giant Russian tapes up his wrists and

hands.]

KStL: This is horrible. Absolutely horrible. I can’t believe I have to

wrestle with you, you big sloppy Russian, and two tumbling, tumbling

d[bleep]kweeds in an eight-man tag team match _tonight_, of all

nights. Don’t you know what tonight is, huh?

[Vlad doesn’t speak. He just continues going about his business,

looking up occasionally at Kristoff.]

KStL: Ugh. Tonight, you big fool, is the night of my big surprise! You

know, the surprise I promised last week?

[Vlad blinks.]

KStL: You test my patience, you lumbering moron.

[Vlad blinks again.]

KStL: Regardless, tonight will be a glorious night! Once I unveil my

big surprise, the landscape of BSCW changes. And none too soon,

either. Unfortunately for you, I don’t have time to worry about silly

eight man matches, and I certainly don’t have time to team up

with something called "Das Wangs".

[Kristoff waits for a reaction, but gets none.]

KStL: Am I getting through to you? Huh? I’m not wrestling with you

tonight? Got that?

[Nothing from Vlad.]

KStL: Bah. Don’t lose tonight, Big Red. Do you understand? Do _NOT_

disappoint me. Again.

[Kristoff waits a few more seconds for a reaction, but gets nothing.

He leaves frustrated.]

Vlad: Da.

[Fade.]

[Fade in. Jamie Trenton is reading a book. Rather exciting, no?]

JT: Hmm -- never knew that.

[And then a boot flies across the room, courtesy of "Black Sheep"

Elias Spencer.]

ES: How in the hell can you be reading at a time like this? I mean --

first, they tell me I have to get a tag team partner to come to this

place. I hand-pick you to come to BSCW with me, and what do you do?

You get hit on by a couple of former German porn stars!

[Trenton looks up.]

JT: It's not like it's the first time, Elias.

ES: I don't _care_ if it's the first time! I don't care if it's the

last time, either, Jamie -- but you got us into this mess. Don't you

dare deny that.

JT: I know I did, Elias -- but it's not like it's nothing we can't

handle, right?

ES: I guess so -- I mean, look what we're teamed with. A team named

Cow and Chicken.

JT: What's wrong with that?

ES: I don't know -- it just seems a little unsettling. I mean, first

we've got former German porn stars, then we've got a team called Cow

and Chicken.

JT: Well, Das Wangs have partners, too.

ES: I know that, Jamie -- but I can't pronounce their names.

[Spencer frowns.]

JT: Awww, that's cute.

ES: -- please don't ever say that again.

JT: Why not?

ES: Because -- dude, you're gay. I'm not.

JT: I know that, but I'm not allowed to say when you're being cute?

ES: No.

JT: Why not?

ES: It's just unsettling, okay?

JT: How is it unsettling? Do I make you nervous?

[Trenton smiles, as Spencer slowly backs away.]

ES: Look -- I don't even want to be part of this team. I'm just here

until a spot in the Heavyweight division comes up, and then you can

blow the entire locker room for all I care --

JT: -- that's not a good show of team spirit --

ES: -- and quite frankly, I don't like getting involved in fistfights

with a couple of Germans just because you like looking like a woman!

[Trenton gasps.]

JT: I do _not_! This is just how I feel comfortable!

ES: At least you're not wearing makeup. Then we can call you a queen.

[Trenton puts a hand on his own chest.]

JT: You have, like, no idea how much that hurts.

ES: Well, buddy -- it's going to hurt a hell of a lot more if we don't

get focused. So, are you going to keep reading trashy romance novels

or are you going to talk strategy?

JT: Talk strategy -- I guess.

ES: Good.

[Spencer nods, as Trenton closes his book. Fade.]

[TAPED EARLIER TODAY...

...Fade in to the lobby of a building. Germany's biggest piece of

Eurotrash, Hans Grossanut, stands there looking like a dumbass and

having a smoke. Hans wears a wife beater tank top, a neon green

bandana around his head, and baggy black pants. Hans is standing

beside a sign that reads "ALCOHOL REHAB" on it in huge black letters.

Uh, yeah. Germans love to drink beer and all, so maybe that's why

he's here? Who knows... let's find out.]

HG: American again come see DieterHans. [shrugs] Du DieterHans love?

[What is he saying? And uh, why the hell is this clown at an Alcohol

Rehab Center again?]

HG: [blowing out smoke] BSCW, seen team no like DieterHans ever.

Opponents crush Venom next! Ja. Must Lord David find hand before.

[Right. Ok. So, DieterHans are going to crush their opponents and

find someone named Lord David. That makes sense, right?]

HG: Trenton Jamie und Spencer Elias stoopud. Jealous. Du jealous du

had this not!

[Hans takes another draw off his cigarette before gyrating his hips.

He pushes his hips forward and points to his uh... his crotch. Let's

face it though, fans, it's massively bulging. Hans has quite a lot to

be envious of.]

HG: Large Deustchland package!

[A woman walks by. Oh lord. Hans throws his smoke to the side and

runs in front of the woman.]

HG: Du hast! [running his hands over his chest] Mmmm... sexay... du

American woman?

[The woman crosses her arms in utter disgust and obvious confusion.

Hans smiles to show his sexy, sexy yellow teeth. He then reaches out

and gropes the woman. The woman automatically retaliates with a slap

across the face...

SLAP!

OUCH!]

HG: STOOPUD, FOUL...

[The woman walks away while Hans rubs his now red cheek. Poor guy.]

HG: Dieter! Ack nein! Woher ist du? Woher ist du, DieterHans?

[Hans looks around frantically for his buddy Dieter. Dieter "All"

Nachtlang is busy handing out flyers to random people. Dieter wears

no shirt, a leopard spot top hat, and skin tight biker shorts. Ewww.

Anyway, Dieter spots Hans.]

DN: Ja! Ja!

[While Hans recovers from the woman's brutal attack, little Dieter

dances his way over to the sloppy, obvious drunken slob sitting in the

waiting area. The man looks up at Dieter and wipes his blood shot

eyes. Dieter moves his hips back and forth before handing the man a

flyer and speaking in hardcore German! Whooo!]

DN: Haben Hey, Sie häßlicher betrunkener Mann, Sie diesen heißen,

sexy Herrn David gesehen? Herr David ist irgendwo beim Verstecken.

Haben Sie ihn gesehen? DieterHans Bedürfnis Herr David heute abend!

Wir müssen Herrn David haben, bevor wir gehen, den Baywatch

Wiedervereinigung Film sieht!

[translation: Hey, you ugly drunk man, have you seen this hot, sexy

Lord David? Lord David is somewhere in hiding. Have you seen him?

DieterHans need Lord David tonight! We must have Lord David before we

go see the Baywatch reunion movie!]

MAN: [scratching his bald head] Uh... no?

[He's not the only one confused. Dieter shrugs and joins up with

Hans.]

DN: Nein.

HG: [sighs] Nein.

[The two weirdos slump their shoulders in depression, still looking

around every corner for Lord David. Dieter stops and points to a

closet that reads "JANITOR."]

DN: Ja, ja, Hans!

HG: Dieter, there! Door open!

[They run over to the closet, being as this is an unopened door they

have not yet looked. Dieter begins to dance as Hans opens the

closet... and there stands their savior... LORD DAVID!]

HG: Lord David!

DN: Lord David!

[Das Wangs hit their knees and begin to worship whom stands before

then... a cardboard cut out of David Hasselhoff! Get it? David

Hasselhoff... Germans? David Hasselhoff... Alcohol Rehab? Anyway.

The cutout is Lord David in all his manliness. He wears his red

Baywatch trunks, his hairy chest apparent. His poise tall and rugged.

The loco Germans love up their Lord David.]

HG: Wir Lord David found! DieterHans matches win, over take BSCW!

DN: [excited] Ja!

[DieterHans kiss Lord David's feet before standing up. Dieter grabs

the cardboard standup and begins to dance with it. Das Wangs begin to

attract quite a crowd as people stop and stare.]

DN: LORD DAVID! LORD DAVID! LORD DAVID!

HG: Wunderbar!

[DieterHans safely make their exit out of Alcohol Rehab with Lord

David in tow. It's just the beginning, folks. Fade.]

[We cut backstage, where BSCW reporter and interviewer extraordinaire,

Mike Phillabaum, stands impatiently. A second later, a stagehand

comes up to Phillabaum and whispers something into his ear.]

MP: What do you _mean_, "it's time"?

[Another whisper into his ear, causing a mixed look of terror and

disgust to cross his face.]

MP: NO! NO NO NO!!! I said I wouldn't do that again. NO! Tell

Vail I want to talk to him...

Stagehand: The order comes from Mister Vail himself, and he told me

to tell you that it's just that... an order.

MP: I DON'T CARE! I will _NOT_ interview those two braindead morons

again! He and I talked...

[Then he looks off in the distance... and his face falls as he

suddenly realizes he no longer has a choice. Then the terror returns,

as into the scene steps the corporate-sponsored white Seattle-born

Spanish-speaking luchador...]

EPL: Yo soy EL POLLO... LOCO!!!

[Or, rather, RUNS the Chicken... head on towards Phillabaum. Loco

jumps into the arms of Mike Phillabaum, sending both men crashing down

to the floor in a clump of imitation feathers and cheap tweed.]

MP: GET OFF OF ME YOU DAMNED FREAK!!!

[Loco wraps his arms around Phillabaum's head, hugging him.]

EPL: Didja miss me, Mister Mikey?!

MP: GET THE HELL OFF YOU DAMNED CHICKEN...

Voice: eet mor chiken.

[Every person on the face of the planet stops momentarily, and bursts

out into a loud cheer as arguably the most popular man in BSCW today

steps into the scene... the King of the Bovine, the Protector of the

Moo, the God of All Things Beef... "Da Cow God"...]

"DCG"M: Moo.

[Decked out in his usual attire of full-length white pants covered in

black "cow" spots, his long black hair bleached with white spots to

produce an odd contrast. The 6'10", 300+ pound monster of a man...

er, cow... er, whatever the hell he is, reaches down and with a single

hand, pulls his child-like Chicken of a partner off of Mike

Phillabaum. The interviewer slowly makes his way to his feet, quite

pissed at the situation.]

"DCG"M: Hello, Philly. How are you this fine evening?

MP: Fine, fine, just keep that... "thing" away from me.

"DCG"M: Please use some kindness, Philly. The Chicken only means to

show his affection for our favorite interviewer-like person.

[Phillabaum shakes his head.]

MP: Let's just get this over with. Why the hell'd you two attack

Kristoff and Vlad last week?

"DCG"M: Well, I'll be honest... it was the Chicken's idea.

[Phillabaum stares at the Chicken, who smiles from beneath his crude

mask that only feintly resembles a gutted-out chicken wrapped around

his head.]

MP: That... didn't really answer my question.

"DCG"M: Well, you see...

[The Chicken runs off screen. This might seem odd, if it were anyone

else in BSCW, but Phillabaum and Moo barely even take note of the

Chicken's absence.]

"DCG"M: The Chicken... well, he kinda had a thing for David Donovan.

[Phillabaum restrains a laugh.]

MP: A... "thing"?

"DCG"M: Yes. But not like you are surely thinking. He wanted to

save Donovan, because he felt bad for the Diamond-Fisted man.

MP: Oh, I need to hear this... why?

"DCG"M: Because he lost his Binky.

[Well, so much for restraining the laugh. Phillabaum bursts into

near-psychotic laughter, only drawing a stare from the Cow. After a

moment, the interviewer gains his composure.]

MP: That damned iguana?

"DCG"M: Yes. You see, the Chicken... he has a slight obsession with

stuffed reptiles...

[And this brings the return of the Chicken, carrying (what else?) a

large, stuffed Godzilla. And large is no understatement... the

stuffed moviestar is probably 5 feet tall, nearly as large as the

Chicken himself. Godzilla takes a seat on the cement floor, as Loco

strikes his best superhero pose.]

EPL: Yo soy EL POLLO... LOCO! DEFENDER OF ALL REPTILES STUFFED!

[Phillabaum loses his composure, laughing again.]

MP: Oh... my God...

"DCG"M: No, it's God-ZILLA.

MP: I know, I meant...

[Moo waves him off with a sweep of his hand.]

"DCG"M: The Chicken felt sympathy for Donovan, because the Chicken

has lost Godzilla before...

MP: How the hell do you lose something as big as THAT?!

EPL: He's a moviestar, someone held him ransom for his autograph, I'm

sure...

[Then he's interrupted by... Godzilla himself. Yes, to the dismay of

Mike Phillabaum, the Chicken begins to hold a conversation WITH THE

STUFFED REPTILE.]

EPL: What?... I know... OH YEAH! You're a genius, Godzilla!

[And the Chicken strikes another superhero pose, before dashing off to

god knows where again. Phillabaum is, naturally, speechless.]

MP: Can't you two just hire your own interviewer? Why do _I_ always

have to...

"DCG"M: Because we like you, Philly. But the Chicken has a

surprise...

[The Chicken returns to the scene, running a little more slowly this

time, his hands held behind his back. "Da Cow God"...]

"DCG"M: Moo.

[... smiles at his poultry-like partner as the Chicken stands behind

Godzilla, nearly dancing a jig in what appears to be childish

anticipation.]

"DCG"M: Last Venom, after we saved the Diamond-Fisted man from the

two evil Hellions... we made a discovery. And after beating the Moo

Hell out of Kristoff St. Livingsto-

[The Chicken can no longer restrain his enthusiasm, producing from

behind his back... a stuffed iguana.]

EPL: WE FOUND BINKY!!!

[Phillabaum stares at the stuffed iguana in disbelief, almost

expecting Loco to begin a conversation with "Binky".]

"DCG"M: Mister Diamond-Fisted Donovan, please find Cow and Chicken...

EPL: Moo.

[...? Which is right about the only accurate description one could

produce of the look on Phillabaum's face.]

"DCG"M: Find us after the show this evening, and we will return your

Binky. And Kristoff, Vlad... you two are mean men.

EPL: _MEAN_!!!

"DCG"M: And tonight, you two will pay for your thievery and your ill

deeds. Tonight, the Chicken and the Cow will punish you. You will...

feel... my...

[He smiles.]

"DCG"M: Moo.

[The Chicken, who throughout all this has been holding a silence

discussion with his two stuffed reptile friends, strikes a superhero

pose once again.]

EPL: Yo soy... EL POLLO... LOCO!!! DEFENDER OF ALL REPTILES STUFFED!

[Moo picks up Godzilla and the Chicken begins lovingly stroking the

head of "Binky", as the fan favorites turn and leave the scene to

continue preparing for to punish the evil. Phillabaum, a look of dead

seriousness in his eyes, stares straight into the camera.]

MP: Mister Vail... please, _PLEASE_ find someone else to interview

these two. I'm begging you... please?

[And we fade back to the ring. Cow and Chicken are already in the

ring, while Vlad Stutovski is on the outside, eyeing them with

menace.]

JL: The following match is an eight...

[At ringside, Vlad growls. Jared laughs nervously to the amusement of

the crowd.]

JL: ... Seven Man Tag Match!

[CLUSTERFUCK POP!]

JL: Introducing first... currently at ringside... weighing in at three

hundred ninety-four pounds... "The Marxman" Vladimir Ovenovitch

Stukovski!

[HEEL POP!]

JL: And in the ring at this time, one half of the opposing team...

weighing in at a combined four hundred ninety-four pounds... from Da

Sacred Pasture and Seattle, Washington respectively... "Da Cow God"

Moo and El Pollo Loco, they are Cow And Chicken!

[BIG FACE POP!]

JL: And their partners... weighing in at a combined four hundred

fifty-four pounds... from Volusia County, Florida and San Diego,

California respectively... Jamie Trenton and "Black Sheep" Jamie

Trenton!

# GO! GO! GO! #

# GO! GO! DANGER IS GO! #

# GO! GO! GO! #

# GO! GO! DANGER IS GO! #

[With "Danger is Go!" by Powerman 5000 playing over the public

address, the team of Jamie Trenton and "Black Sheep" Elias Spencer

charge their way to the ring. Trenton is dressed in a sleeveless grey

T-shirt with Mickey Mouse screen-printed on the front, along with

bright red cargo pants and black wrestling boots. His hair, colored

orange, blue, purple, yellow, and pink, is worn in braids. Spencer,

meanwhile, wears basic black Adidas track pants and black wrestling

boots. The two slide into the ring, as Trenton quickly jumps on the

nearest turnbuckle to pose. Spencer, meanwhile, just glares at his

partner.]

JL: And finally, their opponents. Being accompanied to the ring by

their uhm... manager... Lord David. He is uh... a proclaimed "eleven

soft and fourteen hard"... DIETER "ALL" NACHTLANG! Along with his

partner, who is a "twelve soft and sixteen hard"... [mumbles]yeah

right... he is HANS GROSSANUT! They're both from Berlin, Germany...

DAAAAS WAAAANGS!

["The Bad Touch" by the Bloodhound Gang begins to play over the arena

as the fans all groan in disapproval. Soon thereafter, the former

German porn stars have made their way from the back!]

# You and me baby, ain't nothin' but mammals #

# So, let's do it like they do on the Discovery Channel #

# DO IT AGAIN, NOW! #

[Hans Grossanut & Dieter "All" Nachtlang proceed from the back to a

course of boos. The duo is quite the sight...Hans in his pink neon

wrestling tights, spiked blonde hair, queer goatee, and vulgar

language to the fans. And well, there's Dieter, in his black leather

pants, fur coat, corn rolls for hair, and his dancing...bumping and

grinding the air dancing. The duo wear cocky smiles and dance around

like fools. Hans stops dancing for a second to grab their "manager,"

which is a cardboard stand up of David Hasselhoff! Whooo! These guys

just can't get enough weird antics in.]

# You and me baby, ain't nothin' but mammals #

# So, let's do it like they do on the Discovery Channel #

# GETTIN' HORNY, NOW! #

[The two of them walk down the aisle...well, Dieter dances down the

aisle, and Hans slowly makes his way down it, trading words with

audience members about how he "did their sister last night." Dieter

carries the cardboard standup while dancing. Finally, they hit the

ring and showboat while their music fades. Dieter removes his fur coat

to a little dance number while Hans sets up "Lord" David on the

outside. Their music fades as Hans slides back into the ring and the

two trade strategy... in German, of course.]

"DING! DING!"

MH: Here we go...this match is going to be absolute chaos.

BW: Yep.

MH: Vlad and Trenton will start. Collar and elbow tie up. Headlock

takedown by Vlad. Trenton fights his way back up and shoves Vlad to

the ropes. Shoulderblock by Val.

"THWACK!"

MH: Wow! Trenton popped up and drilled Vlad in the face with a big

dropkick! Right hands to the face by Jamie Trenton. Tag to Elias

Spencer. Irish whip...

"THWAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAACK!"

MH: He whipped him right into a superkick from Jamie Trenton!

[The ref escorts Trenton out of the ring as Spencer hammers away on

Vlad. Vlad reaches out and tags in Hans Grossnaut.]

MH: Vlad is out there by himself, and not doing too well.

BW: He sucks donkey ass, so yeah.

MH: Hmm...

[Grossnaut and Spencer tie up and jostle for position. Headlock

takedown by Grossnaut, but Spencer gets a leg scissors takeover to

counter. He flips and grabs an arm bar, but Grossnaut hammers him in

the gut and hits the ropes.]

"THWAAAAAAACK!"

MH: Big lariat by Grossnaut.

BW: Look at him dance for that cardboard cutout of David Hasselhoff!

What's up with that?

MH: These guys are _STRANGE_, no doubt...

BW: Strange is putting it mildly...

MH: Back up.

"THUD!"

MH: Nice snap suplex to Spencer. Tag to Dieter Nachtlang. To the

ropes...

"THUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUD!"

MH: OOF! Double team spinebuster to Spencer!

[Das Wangs look around, and then begin to pose and dance for the

crowd. As Nachtlang isn't paying attention, El Pollo Loco tags himself

in!]

[POP!]

MH: Here comes the Chicken!

BW: Oh God...

[POP!]

MH: Springboard hurricanrana takedown on Spencer! Dropkick to Spencer!

Back up, and an Irish whip...

[Spencer slingshots over a charging El Pollo, and then rams him face

first into the corner. He pulls him out to the center of the ring and

waistlocks.]

"THUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUD!"

MH: Release German suplex by Elias Spencer, and he makes the tag to

Jamie Trenton, his tag team partner.

BW: Trenton's headed up top!

[Pollo gets up, and Trenton leaps and dropkicks him in the back,

sending him towards Spencer...]

"THUUUUUUUUUUUUUUD!"

MH: A dropkick right into a powerslam! The cover!

ONE!!

TWO!!

THRRRRRRREEEEEEEE-

[Cow breaks it up.]

MH: Cow makes sure his partner didn't get pinned there, making the

save!

[The ref escorts Cow to the corner as Trenton and Spencer stomp away

at El Pollo. Spencer then heads back to the corner as Trenton smacks

Pollo with a shortarm clothesline.]

MH: Trenton to the second rope.

"THUUUUUUUUUUD!"

MH: And a legdrop, right across El Pollo's throat!

"SLAP!"

MH: A tag to Spencer. Quick tags and double teams seem to be the

strategy of Spencer and Trenton.

BW: Definitely.

MH: To the ropes...

[REVERSAL POP!]

"THUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUD!"

[HUGE POP!]

MH: EL POLLO LOCO REVERSED INTO A HUGE DDT, SPIKING BOTH MEN TO THE

MAT!

[Pollo makes the tag to Cow, who enters the ring and lariats Spencer

to the mat. Spencer quickly makes a tag to Vlad, and retreats to the

ring apron.]

MH: Vlad is back in.

BW: Look at Spencer and Trenton...I don't think Spencer is too happy

with Trenton...don't know what about, though.

MH: They seem to be having some problems tagging with each other.

Inverted atomic drop by Cow.

"THUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUD!"

MH: Double arm belly-belly suplex, and a beauty! Vlad got planted. Tag

to Pollo. Irish whip...

BW: Here it comes!

"THUD!"

MH: Drop toe hold!

"THUD!"

MH: Leg drop!

"THUD!"

MH: Elbow drop!

"THUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUD!"

MH: Chicken sault! It's the Cow and Chicken combo, baby!

[HUGE POP!]

MH: The cover by El Pollo!

ONE!!

TWO!!

THRRRRRRRRREEEEE-

[HEEL POP!]

MH: No, Dieter breaks up the pin, saving Vlad!

BW: He didn't want Cow and Chicken to win it, obviously.

MH: That draws Cow into the ring...HERE WE GO! ALL HELL BREAKING

LOOSE!

[All seven men are in the ring, battling away, as the ref tries to

gain control once again. In the midst of the chaos, El Pollo dropkicks

Vlad to the floor. He then backs up, gaining speed...]

MH: HERE COMES EL POLLO!

"CRRRRRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAASH!"

"HOLY SHIT!" "HOLY SHIT!" "HOLY SHIT!"

"HOlY SHIT!" "HOLY SHIT!" "HOLY SHIT!"

MH: EL POLLO TOOK OUT VLAD WITH A HUGE TOPE CON HILO!

"CRRRRRRAAAAAAAAAAASH!"

[Spencer and Trenton are brawling with Das Wangs, as we see Cow on the

mat after being sent into the steel steps.]

MH: This is complete hell here!

BW: The ref has lost all control over this match...

[El Pollo drags Vlad back up and hammers him with some right hands, as

the two of them brawl up the entrance ramp.]

[POP!]

MH: LOOK AT THAT! BOTH MEMBERS OF DAS WANGS BACKDROPPED INTO THE CROWD

BY SPENCER AND TRENTON!

BW: We've got a big brawl on our hands, Heath.

MH: LOOK OUT!

"CRRRRRRRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAASH!"

"HOLY SHIT!" "HOLY SHIT!" "HOLY SHIT!"

"HOlY SHIT!" "HOLY SHIT!" "HOLY SHIT!"

MH: COW CAME OFF THE APRON WITH A SOMERSAULT SENTON ONTO ALL FOUR MEN,

BARRELING INTO THE CROWD! EVERYONE IS DOWN!

BW: Look at Pollo and Vlad!

"SMAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAACK!"

MH: DDT by El Pollo to Vlad! Vlad's head was driven into steel!

[And then...El Pollo points up to the sky.]

[HUGE POP!]

MH: What's...what's he doing?

BW: He's climbing the scaffolding! El Pollo is climbing up the

VailTron!

MH: Oh boy...this is gonna get ugly!

[All five men in the crowd are back up, brawling all over the place.

Cow gets dumped by Das Wangs, and all five men brawl around ringside.

The crowd's attention, however, is on El Pollo Loco, scaling to the

top of the VailTron!]

BW: He's _WAY_ up in the air, Heath! He's gonna kill himself if he

jumps!

MH: He may, he may...

[HUGE POP!]

[El Pollo looks around, looks at Vlad below, and leaps into the

air...]

#FLASH# #FLASH# #FLASH# #FLASH#

"CRRRRRRRRRRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

AAAAAAAAAASH!"

[And let the chants begin...]

"HOLY SHIT!" "HOLY SHIT!" "HOLY SHIT!"

"HOlY SHIT!" "HOLY SHIT!" "HOLY SHIT!"

"HOLY SHIT!" "HOLY SHIT!" "HOLY SHIT!"

"HOlY SHIT!" "HOLY SHIT!" "HOLY SHIT!"

MH: EL POLLO LOCO WITH THE DAMNDEST ELBOW DROP I'VE EVER SEEN, OFF THE

VAILTRON AND THROUGH VLAD AND THE STAGE!

BW: _DAMN_!

[The stage area is chaos, as referee's and medics flood the scene, to

see what's happening. Meanwhile, in the ring, Cow and Dieter and

battling it out.]

MH: The ref has declared them the legal men...or...something. I don't

know. I don't have a damn clue.

BW: This match is insane - how can you have legal men?

MH: To the ropes...

"THUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUD!"

MH: A tilt-a-whirl slam by Dieter! He hooks the leg!

ONE!!

TWO!!

THRRRRRRREEEEEEEEEE-

[POP!]

MH: Cow kicks out! It's a near fall!

BW: Look, they're bringing out a stretcher for Vlad!

MH: He may be hurt, badly...

BW: Who cares... he's not Kristoff!

[And then, out of the wreckage...]

[HUGE POP!]

MH: It's El Pollo Loco! He's standing! Barely...but standing!

BW: I don't believe it!

[Pollo staggers down the ramp, the crowd cheering him on, barely able

to stand. He collapses halfway to the ring, and then tries to get back

up.]

MH: Back to the ring...

"THUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUD!"

MH: A piledriver to Cow! The cover!

ONE!!

TWO!!

THRRRRRRREEEEE-

[Cow kicks out again.]

MH: No, but another near fall. Tag to Hans Grossnaut, who heads up

top...so is Dieter!

BW: Here it comes!

[Cow staggers up...]

"SMAAAAAAAAACK!"

"THUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUD!"

[POP!]

MH: DAS WANGINATOR! THE DROPKICK/HEADBUTT COMBO AND THE COVER!

ONE!!

TWO!!

THRRRRRRRRREEEEEEEEEE!!?!?!?!?!

"THUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUD!"

[HUGE POP!]

MH: NO! EL POLLO BREAKS IT UP WITH A GUILLOTINE LEG DROP TO GROSSNAUT!

HOW IS HE STILL MOVING?

BW: I've got no clue...

MH: We've got chaos, again!

[Spencer and Trenton run into the ring, but Dieter and Pollo dropkick

them both to the floor. Dieter starts to dance, but turns into Pollo,

who leaps up and Chicken-canranas him down to the mat. Meanwhile, Cow

picks up Hans and lifts him up for a sidewalk slam. He walks around as

Pollo goes to the apron and then slingshots back...]

"THUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUD!"

MH: COW BOMB! COW WITH THE COVER!

ONE!!

TWO!!

THRRRRRRRREEEEEEEEEE!?!?!?

[...]

MH: NO! Spencer and Trenton break up the pin!

BW: That was _CLOSE_!

MH: The ref sends Spencer and Trenton and Pollo back to the apron. Cow

drags Grossnaut back up...

[HEEL POP!]

MH: Dieter with a low blow behind the ref's back!]

"THUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUD!"

MH: And a neckbreaker by Grossnaut! Both men are down!

BW: It's _HOT TAG TIME_, baby!

MH: Grossnaut and Cow both need to make a tag!

BW: Cow is in the wrong corner, though! He can't tag Pollo!

"SLAP!"

[POP!]

MH: DIETER AND TRENTON! HERE WE GO!

"SMACK!"

MH: Spinning heel kick by Trenton!

"THUUUUUUUUUUUD!"

MH: A flapjack!

"THUUUUUUUUUUUUD!"

MH: A facebuster!

[Trenton springs to the corner and back...]

"THUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUD!"

MH: Springboard into a splash, and the cover!

ONE!!

TWO!!

THRRRRRRRRREEEEEEEEE-

[Dieter kicks out.]

MH: No, another near fall.

[Trenton picks Dieter up and chops him. To the ropes, but Dieter

reverses. Hans gets in a cheap shot on the apron, and Trenton staggers

into...]

"THUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUD!"

MH: Wow! That was like a gorilla press into a diamond cutter! What a

move by Dieter!

"SLAP!"

MH: Tag to Grossnaut!

BW: He's headed up top again!

MH: And so is Dieter!

"SMAAAAAAAAACK!"

"THUUUUUUUUUUUUUD!"

MH: DAS WANGINATOR TO TRENTON! THE COVER BY GROSSNAUT!

ONE!!

TWO!!

THRRRRRRRRRREEEEEEEE!?!?!?

[...]

[FACE POP!]

MH: NO! COW BREAKS IT UP! COW AND CHICKEN MAKE THE SAVE!

BW: Where was Spencer...?

MH: Chaos! Trenton, Dieter, Cow and Chicken!

[The ref tries to regain control of the match, as Spencer slips in

behind Hans Grossnaut...]

"THUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUD!"

MH: BAYSIDE DRIVER! SPENCER SPIKES GROSSNAUT AND ROLLS TRENTON ON TOP!

ONE!!

TWO!!

THRRRRRRRREEEEEEEEEE!!

[...]

"DING! DING! DING!"

[POP!]

MH: He got him! Trenton pins Grossnaut!

JL: Ladies and gentlemen, your winners... the team of "Black Sheep"

Elias Spencer, Jamie Trenton and Cow and Chicken!

[POP!]

MH: What a _CRAZY_ match, Bil!

BW: Hey, it's BS-f[bleep]king-CW, whaddya expect?

MH: We saw Pollo leap off the VailTron, and a lot of chaos. The tag

team division in BSCW is really heating up.

["Danger Is Go!" replays to a huge response as Spenver begrudgingly

helps Trenton up to his feet. Moo and Loco roll in, and the four

faces climb the four corners to a _huge_ response. Fade.]

[COMMERCIAL BREAK]

[We go to someplace far outside of Viking Hall. A blue '74 Pinto comes

clanking into a parking lot. One the side of the Pinto, "Bobmobile" is

written in gold letters. The Pinto screeches to a halt, parked across

two parking spots. The driver's door swings open, and Blockbuster Bob

comes sprawling out so quickly, that he falls to the ground. He

quickly hobbles toward... Blockbuster Video!]

BB: My god... "HE" did all this?!

[All on the ground, Blockbuster employees are sprawled on the ground,

covered in an orange powder. One of them, a small Hispanic man, moans

and begins crawling towards Bob. Bob notices and rushes to him,

holding up in his arms.]

BB: Geraldo! Oh god Geraldo, what happened?!

G: He... [wheeze]... he say he want.... "South Park Rally", but... but

we not have it anymore... He... he attack us!

BB: No, it couldn't have been that little guy.

[Bob swipes his finger through some of the orange powder and licks it.

His eyes immediately squint with angry knowledge.]

BB: Cheesy Poofs. It was him, alright. That little instruction

booklet-stealing, game burning, no ID-having, non-rewinder Junya

Kontani!

G: Bob... he's still in there... Save him!

BB: Who?! There's a survivor in there?

G: Si... it's the new guy... Ryan.

BB: I understand. Then in the name of Bob, I declare this mission...

"Saving New Guy Ryan"! Forward to victory!

[With this might battle cry, Blockbuster Bob charges into Blockbuster

Video, prepared for battle...and that's when he sees the horrid

sight...]

"THUD!"

[Bob drops to his knees, sending tremors throughout the stores, as he

screams in a deep baritone voice...]

BB: WHY!? WHAT FURY HATH HELL WROUGHT ON MY PRECIOUS BLOCKBUSTER!

[CUE SCARY MUSIC!]

[For there, in front of Bob... lies a montage of imperfection and

horrendous mismanagement.]

BB: Surrounding me at all sides is the heart wrenching sight of movie

cases covering over the jewel cases, so that all I see are these non-

pictured, unmarketable movie holders! From Action to New releases...

all defiled in rows of disorganization and anarchy!

[Suddenly, a sickening laugh reverberates amongst the cornucopia of

disheveled tapes, and as Bob turns around... from off camera...]

"SPLUT!"

[A pie-held red jammy substance nails Bob right in the face! But Bob,

even in the most dire circumstances, loves his food, so he wipes some

of the slippery goodness from his face and examines it with his

tongue.]

BB: RASPBERRY!

There is only one man who would dare give me the raspberry!

[An Asian man pops out from behind the Video Game section... as Bob

takes a cylindrical cardboard popcorn holder used for advertisement

from off the nearest shelf and places it on his head.]

BB: JUN-YA!!

[Junya Kontani reveals a high pitch squeal of anger.]

JK: NO! NO! NO! YOU GOT IT ALL WONG, STUPID!

[Blockbuster looks inquisitively at Junya.]

JK: PIE HITTING IS FWOM GARFRIELD IN FRIENDS!

BB: WHO SAYS!?

JK: I SAY!

BB: PROVE IT!

JK: FINE!

[Junya takes another whole pie and...]

"GORSH!"

[Tosses it at Bob!]

JK: See! Gorsh is Hawaiian for Splut!

BB: CURSE YOU and your fowl trickery... but there is an err in your

ways! For Garfield was only hit by Lemon Meringue pies!

JK: Ah ha! WONG AGAIN! Garfrield also got hit by Banana Cream Pies in

offer episodes!

BB: Then why are you using Rhubarb!?

[Junya shivers... and looks like he's about to go down for the count,

when suddenly he realizes something.]

JK: Sruck mry balls!

BB: Present them.

[Junya winces in pain.]

JK: Touché... touché.

[Kontani coughs towards the ground, while genuflecting in pain, as Bob

slowly walks to him.]

BB: The jig is up, Junya! Where's New Guy Ryan at!?

[Junya, in pain at the witty retort still, looks solemnly into

Blockbuster Bob's eyes as he says...]

JK: Up yo butt and around the corner!

[Bob takes time to think about this, and indeed, acts it out.]

BB: Well here's my butt... and if it's around the corner...

[Bob looks at his crotch as he sees Junya, now stood up, with a smile

on his face.]

JK: I'll roshambu ya' fo it!

BB: Uh oh...

"SMACK!"

BB: URRRRRRRRRRGH!

[Bob falls to the ground, whimpering like a girl.]

JK: I WIN! YOU ROOSE! SUCKER!

AND NROW YOU RITTLE FWEND DIES!

[Junya then runs to a door hidden in a corner...]

BB: No...not...<huff> the STOCK ROOM! <puff>

[Indeed it is... and as Junya opens the door, cackling, you can hear

muffled screams from inside.]

BB: New Guy Ryan! I'll save you!!!

[As Bob gets to his feet, he doesn't see (But we do) Junya crawling

over to the Horror/Suspense section. Bob, as fast as his legs can

waddle him, flallops to the door in a way that things that aren't

moving swamp mattresses don't.]

BB: He must be behind this door...

[Bob looks down to see a shoot of flame suck under the door...]

BB: Hmmmm... seems familiar.

[Bob touches the doorknob...]

BB: OUCH!

[And pulls his hand back in pain.]

BB: Well... I know what this is... that dastardly Junya's trying to

send me into a certain BOBDRAFT!

[Bob pauses...]

BB: BUT NO! I've been ordered... no... it is my DUTY to save new Guy

Ryan, and damnit, I haven't traveled all this way to watch an innocent

comrade die!

[Although it only takes five minutes to get to Blockbuster from the

stadium, and Bob made a coke-run stop at Mobil, it was far for him.

Especially the fact he got in and out of his car more than once, which

for him, counts as a considerable and concerted effort of his

limbs...so indeed, Bob, fearing no pain...]

BB: AHHHHHHHHHHH!

[Is immediately overcome by spurting flames. So much so that the force

causes him to drop and roll... and due to his excessive mass, it only

takes a half-roll to quench not only the flames on him, but all that

spurted from the door.]

BB: Ah ha! I'd like to see a Baldwin do that, huh!

[From behind the door pops out... a BLOCKBUSTER EMPLOYEE! And his name

tag says...]

BB: "New Guy Ryan!" It's you! You're alive!

NGR: No, I'm Not Gay Ryan... see... I'm N.G.Ryan... the new guy is

clearly marked with a green tag.

BB: Oh...well...back to your post then.

"SMACK!"

[From off camera, a copy of Monkey Shines nails Not Gay Ryan in the

head, causing him to topple over from the sheer unexpected coolness of

it entering his life at a most unexpected moment.]

BB: Hey! You can't just throw movies whenever you want... and you're

in the Horror section! This film CLEARLY belongs in Cult!

JK: What chu talkin' bout, Willis!?

[Junya throws another movie, this time it's Rocky Horror Picture Show.

Gratefully, it misses... because NO ONE wants to see Bob in a thong.]

BB: LOOK, JUST BECAUSE IT _SAYS_ HORROR DOESN'T MEAN IT BELONGS THERE!

AND IF YOU THROW _ONE_ MORE CULT MOVIE AT ME FROM THE WRONG SECTION, I

SWEAR TO GOD I'LL...

[UHF crashes into the New Releases section to the right of Bob.]

BB: That's it! You're a dead man, Junya!

[Bob, with all the force his chubby legs can have the ground push off

on him with, reaches the TV Episodes section. And with as much of a

dive as possible for a morbidally obese Blockbuster employee, Bob

slides to the bottom shelf where he grabs an old VHS of I love

Lucy...]

BB: Time to fight fire with fire...

"CLASH!"

BB: Missed!

[Then Junya, makes a break for the action section... but Bob sees

him.]

BB: Oh no you don't!

[Bob picks up a particularly deadly weapon...An DVD of some Frieza

Saga DBZ, and hurls it at Junya...]

[SLOW MOTION TIME!]

[Camera shows down to show Junya springboard onto the drama section,

and look at the fatal DVD, because nothing's worse than the battle

scenes of the Genyu force. But as the frisbee like projectile is about

to hit, Junya lifts his right arm, planting his left on the shelf.

Then lifting his legs and grabbing it with his free right arm, he

becomes vertical, and the tape just misses to his left.]

[REAL MOTION!]

BB: Oh no! He's at the action section... let's just hope he doesn't

know his movies...

[Then Bob sees something that HAS to be the trump card...]

BB: Ah ha! THE BEST OF DENNIS MILLER LIVE!

[Bob stands up... with confidence, assurance... and a divine purpose,

as he stares into the vicinity of the Action section.

In one hand, Bob pulls out a pair of sunglasses from his side...but

unfortunately, he rolled over the black sunglasses to put out the

fire. They'll have to do. In the other, he holds in a "glock" position

the horrid Dennis Miller collection DVD.]

BB: Ezekiel 25:17...

"The path of the righteous man is beset-..."

[The ground begins to shake... and from the "Action" section...a deep,

dark, blackish red light, as if from the pits of hell, emerges...

shocking Bob into stopping his line. But bravely, he restarts the

quote.]

BB: The path of the righteous man is-

"ROOOOOOAAAAR!"

[A demonic roar comes from the Money Pit itself, and once again, Bob

is frightened. But attempting not to show it, he starts again.]

BB: LIKE I SAID... EZEKIEL TWENTY FIVE SEVENTE-

"OOOGA BOOOGA!"

BB: SCREW IT!

[Bob throws the shades down, and lifting the DVD over his head,

screams:]

BB: HEEEEEEEEEEERE'S BOB-O!!!!!!

[Bob makes a mad-dash/healthy scuttle in lieu of the red light, with

DM Live locked in a fat man's dead grip like one so many oil-layered,

greasy as Italians get sandwiches...]

"OOOOOF!"

[Only to be bent over by some unknown force which seems to have hit

him at belt level.]

BB: What the HELL is that!?

"CLANK!"

"NO!!!"

[The air itself seems to knock the DVD out of his hands, sliding into

the far wall thirty feet behind Bob.]

BB: What kind of evil is at hand here!?!?

[Bob begins wheezing, as if from one of his asthma attacks, but

bravely he fights back, using all his weight, gerth and might to push

against...the empty space in front of him.]

BB: MUST...<HUFF> SAVE...<PUFF> NEW GUY... <WHEEEEZE> RYAN...

"THUD!"

[Bob is lowered to his knees once more, now by this unknown force that

has knocked him to the ground...and looking up...he sees the face of

Death itself.]

BB: [INHALING WHEEEEEEEEEEEEEZE!] WE'RE ALL DOOMED!

[Is the face of John Travolta in ten pounds of make-up!]

JK: THA' PROWAH OF CRAP COMPRERS YOU!

[As Junya moves the horrid jewel cover and movie known as Battlefield

Earth into Bob's face, the large man collapses backward due to

exhaustion from the asthma attack. And in a faint, shrieking and

baited breath...you can hear him say...]

BB: No! 'Battlefield Earth'! What evil hath I committed to deserve

such majestic punishment?!

[Bob finally passes out... leaving Junya over Bob's body... Kontani

smiles.]

JK: Dat's wight... dat's why Movies SRUCK rand Souf Pahk WOOS! And if

you aren't big scared pantsy wantsy, I fright you on nrext Ven-nrum

nums to Show tha world that...

MOVIES AREN'T MAGIC...

THA' SILVAH SCREEN IS RUSTAH...

AND ALL THA' RESS-RERS RATCHING...

WILL RESPRECT MAH AUTHORITAH!

[Junya looks to the sky and laughs as we fade to Geraldo outside...as

he sees a white guy who looks somewhat, if not completely unlike Matt

Damon.]

G: Hey, esse, you're okay! You're alive!

"NG"R: Yeah, my break took an hour longer than I thought...

[Ryan looks inside to see a Japanese man looming over a large man,

while movies are scattered all over the place.]

"NG"R: So what happened in there?

G: Oh nothing. Just an angry costumer.

"NG"R: Eh, it doesn't matter anyways. Us new guys don't have to close.

G: Yeah, the fat guy can clean up the store. Let's go eat.

[Cut back to Venom!]

BW: That's it! I can't take it anymore!

[Bil leaps to his feet, pulling a switchblade out.]

BW: I'm ending it all... and I'm taking all you motherf[blee]kers with

me!

MH: Bil, come on! It was only Bob!

BW: I can't live in a world where Blockbuster Bob is given air time!

I just _can't_!

MH: Bil, calm down! We'll go drinking after the show!

BW: Are... are you buying?

MH: Yes! Anything!

[A look of calm suddenly rushes over Bil's face, as he drops the

blade.]

BW: You dumb bitch... such an easy mark.

[A look of rage comes across Matt's face, as he realizes he's been

had.]

MH: You are so dead.

[We fade back to the ring, where "Hedonistic" Jaime Roberts is already

present.]

JL: The following contest is a The Sky's The Limit Tournament Match!

[TSTL POP!]

JL: Introducing first, in the ring at this time... representing DWF...

"Hedonistic" Jaime Roberts!

[Roberts raises his hands to a lukewarm pop as Jared continues the

introductions.]

JL: And his opponent...

[...]

BW: Well?

MH: Who is it? Is Van Strife here after all?!

[The crowd gets on their feet, eagerly anticipating the official

word...

but it's not to come from Jared Lord.]

BW: Is this loser getting a bye? What's going on?!

[Suddenly, the arena lights die, and the arena goes dark, drawing

murmers, and probably some muggings, from the Philly crowd. The

opening notes of "Aenima" by Tool, are broadcast out over the darkened

Viking Hall, as the murmers turn to a loud heel pop!]

##Some say the end is near##

##Some say we’ll see armageddon soon##

##I certainly hope we will##

##I could use a vacation from this##

##Bull##

##Shit##

##Three##

##Ring##

##Ciiiiiiiiiiiircus##

##Sideshow##

[The lights scream to life!]

##OF FREAKS##

##HERE IN THIS HOPELESS FUCKING##

##HOLE WE CALL L.A.##

##THE ONLY WAY TO FIX IT##

##IS TO FLUSH IT ALL AWAY##

##ANY FUCKIN’ TIME##

##ANY FUCKIN’ DAY##

##LEARN TO SWIM##

##SEE YOU DOWN IN ARIZONA BAY##

[BACKSTABBING BASTARD POP!]

[Appearing from behind the curtain, smiling smugly, is "The Young

Hellion" Kristoff St. Livingstone!]

MH: This was Kristoff’s big surprise! He, himself, has re-entered The

Sky’s The Limit Tournament!!

BW: Can I change my pick for a winner?

[Kristoff saunters down about halfway to the ring, then stops. He

presents a microphone from his ring robe.]

KStL: They call Philadelphia the City of Brotherly Love, but looking

out at the deshoveled, slovenly masses I see here this evening,

there’s no possible way any of you could EVER be related to me. You

people here tonight, to put it lightly, disgust me.

[Cheap Heat!]

KStL: I promised a huge surprise for you tumbling, tumbling dickweeds,

and I do not disappoint. Now, I know in your feeble minds you probably

think _I’m_ the surprise. You probably think Kristoff St. Livingstone

is Jaime Roberts opponent this evening. But, alas-- not unlike the

moment you people decided that moving to this glorified toilet of a

town was a good idea-- you thought wrong.

[Cheap Heat/Intrigued Murmmering]

KStL: I would _NEVER_ enter a tournament with the "NEO" name stamped

anywhere near it. But, the man I’m about to introduce would. The man

I’m about to introduce will enter a NEO-sponsored tournament, and

he will WIN a NEO-sponsored tournament. And he would do it...

[Dramatic pause.]

to _spite_ NEO.

[Wait a second! POP!]

KStL: Dirty locals of Philadelphia, it’s my supreme honor to introduce

at this time, the man who will take home the TSTL title to the Mighty

Upstart Nation...

"THE SPITEFUL SUPERSTAR"!!!!

[MEGA-POP!]

TRIPP SHADE!!!

MH: WHAT!?

##AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH##

[The driving guitars and primal yells of Alice in Chains' "Them Bones"

can mean only one thing.]

MH: OH MY GOD! TRIPP SHADE IS IN BSCW!

[SPITEFUL - UPSTART - HAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAATE~! POP!]

BW: WOW!

[Shade appears from behind the curtain, grinning widely. He saunters

down to ringside, led by Kristoff. He steps through the ropes, and

looks out at the cheering crowd. Japanese photographers want

photographs, but Tripp Shade's not a jackass, so he pays them no mind.

Children cheer, women cry, and the guy sitting next to the children

and women cheer as well. Basically, Tripp Shade gets a pop that makes

Spikyjim's pop look positively Morlockian in comparison.]

##I BELIEVE##

##THEM BONES ARE ME##

##SOME SAY##

##WE'RE BORN INTO THE GRAVE##

##I FEEL SO ALONE##

##GONNA END UP A BIG OL PILE OF##

##THEM BONES##

[Tripp takes off his robe, and prepares to kick Jaime Roberts' ass.]

"DING! DING! DING!"

BW: I still can't believe it! Tripp f'n Shade!

MH: I think everyone was caught totally by surprise! As most of you

fans know, Shade did exceptionally well in GLCW's Skydivers

Tournament, so this should be a real treat.

[Not wasting any time, Roberts charges as Tripp...]

[POP!]

BW: DUCKED!

MH: Shade ducks the Clothesline! Roberts came at him with such

velocity he went right into the ropes!

[As Roberts rebounds, Shade smirks, getting ready for something big.]

"SMAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAACK!"

"THUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUD!"

"Z-H-K!" "Z-H-K!" "Z-H-K!" "Z-H-K!"

BW: CHRIST! HE BROKE HIS DAMN NECK!

MH: ZERO HEAT KICK! Shade caught him full in the face as Roberts came

off the ropes... the kick hit with such force that Jaime fell right on

the back of his head, _hard_!

[As Roberts lies motionless in the center of the ring, the ref starts

to count.]

"ONE!!"

"TWO!!"

"THREE!!"

"FOUR!!"

[Tripp chats with Kristoff, both laughing derisively at the fallen

Roberts.]

"FIVE!!"

"SIX!!"

"SEVEN"

"EIGHT!!"

[Tripp walks over to Robers, nudging him with his boot.]

BW: Damn.

MH: Jaime Roberts is just _not_ moving, folks.

"NINE!!"

"TEN!!"

"DING! DING! DING!"

[SHOCKED POP!]

BW: Are you serious? A KO?!

JL: Here is your winner by way of knock out... "Spiteful Superstar"

Tripp Shade!

MH: Tripp Shade shocks the world _again_! Not only with his surprise

entry into the tourney, but by knocking Jaime Roberts out _cold_!

BW: Unbelievable. I'm still in shock.

["Them Bones" replays as Tripp gets his hand raised, standing over the

fallen Roberts. Kristoff rolls into the ring, slaps the ref's hand

away, and raises Shade's hand himself. Fade.]

[Backstage, Sykopath is walking down the hallway...]

"THWAAAAAAAAAAACK!"

MH: What the hell?!

[Into our view walks a masked man. However, his build, the way he

carries himself, even the clothes he wears tells us his identity

clearly as a name tag.

Despair.]

BW: Is that...

[The masked man rears back as Syko staggers, trying to stay on his

feet...]

"THWAAAAAAAAAAAAAAACK!"

"THUUD!"

[Syko falls to the ground with a sick thud. The masked man lies the

chair over The Sykotik One's head and turns around...]

"THUUUUUUUUUUUUD!"

[SICK MOVE POP!]

MH: STANDING MOONSAULT!

BW: Nuts!

[Finally, the man...]

[HEEL POP!]

[... tears off a piece of Syko's mask!]

MH: If that is Despa-

BW: Shut up! You don't know that!

MH: Well, _if_ it is, he just signed his death warrant!

[Syko lies face down on the ground, the removal of half of his mask

not revealing his identity due to his position. The masked man walks

off, seeming pleased with the job he's done.]

[COMMERCIAL BREAK]

[The locker room area... and in the special, plush, BETTER THAN

EVERYBODY ELSE'S section known as "THE SUICIDE KINGS VIP AREA"... sits

one man, alone, on a bench. He has blue hair, he's wearing black

combat shorts and a black "FUTURE = BLUE" T-Shirt... taping his wrists

and whistling a happy tune is... SPIKYJIM. But y'all knew that,

right?]

S: Ain't nothing better than doing things the wrong way round...

like bleeding before a match. Cleanses the soul.

[Spiky looks up, a small bandage placed over his forehead following

his crazed self mutilation earlier on... his face still showing traces

of dried blood in places. He smiles his horrible smile, straight into

the camera.]

S: I'm just giving you people what you want to see. Blood. Guts.

My soul, bared for all to see in the squared circle. And now? You

people, ungrateful to the last... will get to see me wrestle.

Applauding every last chain hold and reversal, praising me and Harker

to the hilt for another five star match, giving Harker a springboard

back to fame and fortune... no, wait.

I'm not THAT good.

[Spiky smiles again, and finishes taping his left wrist. He flexes

his hand and looks back up.]

S: Desperation can bring out the best in a man. It can drive a man

on to greater things, make a man realise what he may have to live

without and cause him to turn his life around to make things work. It

can make a man take up anything or quit anything, make a man take a

life or save a life. It's an emotion that we underestimate

sometimes... because without my desperation to succeed over the past

three years since my injury... well, there never would have been so

many balcony dives from Jimmy Barnett. There never would have been

THE LIVING END. I would just have stayed home and played with my

kids.. maybe I would have got a job cleaning pools or something.

Without that desire and desperation to bring myself back from the

dead, I would have been FINISHED.

[Spiky leans back against the wall, and reaches for his cigarettes.

He gets one, lights it and takes a long drag before continuing.]

S: Hey Seth, you look like a pretty desperate man. How much smaller

is your paycheck than mine, huh? When was the last time you made a

top ten list, or won an award? Grade school doesn't count. How

desperate do you feel when you see me in the ring? Do you feel the

crushing despair of a man who is slowly realising that he has been

left behind by the BIG BOYS in this business of ours? I'll bet you're

headbutting a wall now, trying your best to psyche yourself up, lacing

up those boots your folks bought you and endeavouring to inspire

yourself to a victory. On television. Against "The Real American

Psycho" Spikyjim. That isn't indigestion from your pre-match burrito,

hombre... it's a mixture of desperation and fear.

[Spiky leans forward again, and winks into the camera.]

S: See Seth... bet you think you're pretty smart, getting lil' Jimmy

to enter into a wrestling match with you, right? Of course... you

forgot about the small factor of me being a better wrestler than

you'll EVER be... Y'know, I saw you at Bloodfest, hitting Taurus with

a DRUNK DRIVER... see, he got up. With me? People don't get up...

they lie on the mat and pray for the END... not the LIVING END, just a

quiet few minutes when I'll leave them alone and stop beating them.

Want to see if I can cope without cheating? Of course I can. The big

question is... can you put me away without cheating on yourself and

being underhanded?

NO.

Because you're TOO desperate.

[More smoke, as Spiky starts to tape his right wrist.]

S: See, for every great man like me who can turn desperation into

desire and desire into domination... there's a man who has left things

a little too long. Reduced to getting heat by challenging bigger

names in a vain bid to get noticed by an indifferent crowd. A man who

lets Desperation and that alone rule his every decision. Seth...

you're so desperate to go out there and put on a show against me...

that you're an accident waiting to happen. Desperation is nothing

without the talent to back things up... and I don't see any talent

over in your direction, Seth. You're a good wrestler? Hardly. A

great personality? No. A leading name in BSCW?

Yeah... right.

The management can't love you too much if they put you in the ring

with me, rules or no rules.

[Spiky finishes taping his right wrist.]

S: Face it, Seth... nobody wants to see you succeed. For all your

desperation, your pissing and moaning about me, your phoney

challenges... you're not me. I'm a main event wrestler, a hardcore

legend, a garbage wrestling icon... an enigma from the USA to Mexico

to Europe to Japan. You? You're a little guy who could have been big

when the BSCW was small. Now it's gaining momentum with the SUICIDE

KINGS running the show... you're a footnote, a reference point to how

things used to be. Is that why you're so desperate? Can you see your

career slipping away in front of your very eyes? Can you smell the

unemployment? Feel that desperation in your chest, fogging up your

mind and making your limbs ache? You can?

It's getting to you.

It's too late to turn things around.

Every decision you make is governed by desperation.

Because you're not me.

Not a star.

Just a nobody.

Think you can wrestle?

Doesn't matter.

You're insignificant.

Pointless.

Desperate.

[Spiky laughs to himself and finishes his cigarette, taking two hefty

blasts from it. He exhales, cracks his neck from side to side and

self consciously touches the dressing on his forehead.]

S: I hope you understand my argument, Seth... but I'm sure that your

sad and deluded mind is already imagining a victory that could never

happen. Keep dreaming... because these are the last few minutes that

your dream will still seem a reality. You're going home on a

stretcher, Seth... and I won't need a table or a chair to help me

cripple you. Just you, the ring, and the ropes... a dash of magic, an

ounce of agility... what do you have?

THE LIVING END.

Goodnight, Seth. My desperation three years ago drove me to new

heights. Your desperation? It'll just drive you to the emergency

room.

THE FUTURE IS BRIGHT...

THE FUTURE...

IS...

BLUE.

[Spiky smiles into the camera again. Fade back to the arena.]

BW: Alas poor Harker... I knew him well.

MH: Shut up! Harker's an incredible competitor!

BW: Who nearly got crippled by Taurus. In fact... after what the

Japanese Akita did, I'm not even sure Spiky will have anything left to

mangle.

MH: You're sick. Let's head to the ring.

[And we do, and as always... Jared Lord.]

JL: The following contest is a Scientific Rules Match!

[MIXED POP!]

JL: Introducing first... from Parts Unknown... weighing in at two

hundred seventeen pounds... Seth Harker!

[The lights slowly fade as the opening riff of "The Right Time" plays,

bringing the crowd to its collective feet. A few seconds in, however,

the song fades abrubtly as the 'Tron flickers to life. It shows a

corridor in the backstage area, shot from ground level. A pair of feet

move into shot, clad in black leather boots. The sharp impacts of run-

down bootheels contrast with the hiss of a long laether treanchcoat as

the figure strides down the hallway. The crowd pops as Radiohads'

"Creep" begins to play softly and the camera draws back, showing Seth

Harker in full "Darkside" mode. (Trenchcoat, black leather pants,

mirrored sunglasses and "Don't Fuck With Me" attitude.)]

#But I'm a creep!#

#I'm a wierdo#

#What the hell am I doing here?#

#I don't belong here...#

[Seths walk the aisle. Seth seems totally focused on his match,

ignoring the outstretched hands of the fans. Seth removes his

trenchcoat on the apron, his eyes never leaving the entranceway.

Slowly, he takes off his shades and enters the ring as the music

fades.]

JL: And his opponent...

[HEEL POP!]

JL: And his opponent... from Cleveland, Ohio... he weighs in at two

hundred twenty-five pounds but kicks like a four hundred pound mule...

by way of Mexico and Japan, he is now a permanent fixture in the

west... "The Waking Nightmare"... "The Hardcore Shining Light"... "The

Real American Psycho"... Spikyjim!

[DARKNESS.]

[The arena falls silent. All is still, all is calm. The big screen

lights the hell up though... with huge, feet-high letters, burning the

following sentences on the crowd's eyeballs.]

BITTER.

TWISTED.

MAD, BAD...

AND VERY DANGEROUS TO KNOW.

[Cue the Music. "Fiend" by Coal Chamber drones over the PA, and

sections of the crowd cotton on to who is about to step out into the

arena... the screen turns to static again, and a humming noise

supersedes the intro to the music... as another phrase lights up the

screen, in HUGE, gothic white letters...]

THE FUTURE IS BRIGHT...

[Thump. Thump. Thump.]

THE FUTURE IS BLUE.

"BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOM!"

[The hardcore nuts in the crowd pop HUGE. The kids who read the shit

on the net pop HUGE. The Moms and Dads who don't know what's going on

pop HUGE. The guy sitting next to you pops HUGE, but you don't know

why... except you find yourself doing it, standing up, clapping,

whooping with joy... you know what's coming, and it involves the words

"five" and "star" when you talk about it later... the noise in the

arena turns from confused joy to unbridled, orgasmic pleasure as the

one, the only true HARDCORE SHINING LIGHT and LAST OF THE INDEPENDENTS

steps out into a blue spotlight... the music kicks in... And then

y'all remember how much you DESPISE him.]

#It's the darkest place

Underneath the stairs

The IT it comes

And IT takes me there]